The Dungeoneers

by John David Anderson

  Colm considered telling her that that was generally what sword fighting was all about, but thought better of it. The spoon was a mangled loop of twisted metal already, and he thought she might just throw it at him.

  “On the plus side,” Quinn remarked, “I learned how to boil water today. Watch.”

  The mageling pointed at his bowl of stew and began chanting under his breath. A moment later, you could see the first bubble start to surface, and soon the bowl of bacon and beans was bubbling and popping like it was still over the coals. “You want yours warmed up?”

  Colm shook his head. Better not to risk it.

  “I learned how to speak dog,” Serene said, beaming. “I mean, I knew already, but I was a little rusty. We don’t have wild dogs in the glade. Most of the elders prefer owls for pets. Or wolves.” She shivered in her seat.

  “Wolves are just big dogs,” Colm suggested.

  “And panthers are just big cats too, but you wouldn’t just go up and pet one.”

  Colm was about to tell them about the door of not nearly a hundred locks and how he had managed to get through the first four already when the normally boisterous dining hall fell silent. A familiar figure stood in the archway, practically filling it. He peered out from behind his lion’s mane of hair, his bulk barely contained in his golden armor.

  “Don’t be quiet on my account,” Tye Thwodin said. “Roar! Boast! Shout! We are adventurers! We are meant to be loud!” There was a pause, and then slowly conversation returned as Master Thwodin stomped through the room.

  “What’s he doing here?” Colm wondered.

  “He does this, I hear,” Lena offered, snapped out of her funk by the presence of the guild’s founder mingling with his charges. “To get to know his new dungeoneers better.”

  Colm watched the legendary warrior work his way down the tables, clapping his recruits so hard on the back that it made them choke, sometimes reaching over and stealing some of their food or swigs from their cups. Nobody dared tell him no. It was his castle, after all. Finally he made his way to Colm’s table and peered down at the lot of them.

  “Aha. Here’s some fresh faces,” he bellowed. “How was your first full day as official dungeoneers in training?”

  Quinn nodded eagerly, probably too nervous to try and speak. Serene said it was excellent, thank you. Colm smiled.

  “And you, Miss . . . Proudmore, is it? Got your first war wound, I see.” He pointed to her knuckle.

  “Just a scrape, sir,” she said, not looking up. So there was at least somebody she didn’t have the nerve to stare down.

  “Just a scrape? Judging by the size of that bandage, I’d say you nearly lost the finger! You might know something about that, though, wouldn’t you?” Tye added, staring at Colm. Colm was about to explain how he had actually been born that way when a young man Colm didn’t recognize walked briskly through the dining hall, snapping to attention in front of the head of the legion.

  “Master Thwodin, there’s a matter requiring your attention, sir,” the young man whispered.

  “Can’t you see I’m mingling?” Tye Thwodin barked.

  “Yes, sir. But it’s kind of urgent,” the messenger insisted. “It’s Master Wolfe, sir. He has returned.”

  Colm noticed that everyone within earshot suddenly froze, mouths shut, ears perked, eyes wide.

  Tye Thwodin simply shrugged. “And what? He wants me to fetch his slippers for him? I assure you, Grahm Wolfe can find the front door by himself. He’s a bloody ranger who killed his first orc when you were still sucking on your own toes. Let’s just leave the poor man alone.”

  “That’s the thing, sir,” the messenger said. “He’s not alone. He has . . . company.”

  There was a heavy pause as Master Thwodin considered the implications. Then he gave the young man a penetrating stare. “Well, in that case, call the other masters. And then run down to the armory and grab my hammer. You know which one.”

  The messenger spun around and ran back through the archway at twice the speed he had come in. Master Thwodin turned back to Colm’s table. “Sorry to cut the conversation short,” he said. “But it appears we have guests.”

  It didn’t take long for the dining hall to clear out. Once Tye Thwodin gave the command for the other masters to arm themselves and meet him at the front gates, the younger dungeoneers collectively determined that dinner was over. Even Colm got a little chill when the gilded giant of a man stomped out of the dining hall, bellowing commands. There was a huge commotion as the surge of trainees funneled through the archway into the great hall to the front doors, but they were quickly stopped by Master Merribell, who had both hands raised, commanding them to halt.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

  “To watch,” Lena said eagerly.

  “I’m afraid not. The castle is on lockdown. You should return to the dining hall until the lookout rings the all clear.”

  Master Thwodin, Smashy Two now slung across one shoulder, heard the collective groan and turned around. “It’s all right, Bell. It’s just a little raiding party. Let them watch from up top. It will be educational.” Then he turned and strode toward the giant double doors beneath the hourglasses, Masters Velmoth and Stormbow in tow, along with the goblin. Colm noticed that Finn was not among them. Apparently rogues weren’t called upon to defend the castle from invaders.

  “Come on!” Quinn said, tugging on Colm shoulder. “I don’t want to miss this!”

  Colm turned and followed Quinn up the stairs, catching Lena and Serene and the rest of the crowd as they made their way through the halls to the doors leading out to the battlements. Colm had been on the roof to visit the rookery on his first day, but this time they moved toward the front of the castle, looking down over the courtyard and the field beyond, edged by the emerald forest all around.

  Colm froze. There, racing across the wet grass, leaning hard into his horse’s mane, was a figure dressed in black. Both hands clutched the reins as the steed’s hooves kicked up clods of mud behind him, the pair making straight for the castle gate.

  This, apparently, was Master Wolfe. And the messenger was right: he wasn’t alone.

  Along the edge of the forest, pouring out from between the trees, was a wave of orcs—Colm recognized them from the book Herren Bloodclaw had insisted they read. In person, they looked much more vicious than their black-and-white engravings: clubs and axes brandished, ugly green-and-brown faces contorted in snarls. The monsters were mounted on what looked to be giant boars with tusks the size of tree branches, two to a back, careening down the sloping plain that led to the castle’s outer wall. You could hear the thunder of their hoofbeats.

  “Didn’t he say little raiding party?” Serene asked. There had to be at least fifty of them.

  The boars were fast—faster than Colm had ever imagined they could be—but the black-clad figure’s horse was faster. There was no way they would catch him. All around him, he heard the other young dungeoneers cheering Master Wolfe on. Colm had to admit, it was more exciting than sitting in Finn’s office blistering his fingers.

  “He’s going to make it,” Quinn said.

  Colm agreed. The ranger would have, certainly. That is, if he hadn’t stopped, his mottled gray mare reeling back and wheeling around to face the horde bearing down on him.

  “What’s he doing?”

  A girl standing behind them, tall enough to look over the top of Colm’s sandy mop of hair, laughed. “It’s Master Wolfe. What do you think he’s doing?”

  The figure on the horse crossed both arms, reaching down to either side of his belt and drawing the two swords he found there. Colm thought he could almost hear, from all the way up the castle walls, the zing of the metal pulled from the scabbards.

  “Anywhere and Anytime,” Lena cooed, her voice steeped in pure awe. “The twin blades of one of the most feared swordsmen ever.” Colm looked down at Scratch by his side.

  “Wait a minute. He’s not actually going to attack
them, is he?” Quinn croaked.

  Colm wondered what Finn would say, outnumbered fifty to one. Run. Run and hide and live to fight again. But the man with a sword in each hand charged instead—the clop of the horse’s hooves mixed with the rolling drums of two dozen barreling boars, destined for a collision in the middle of the field. Colm figured the ranger might take down four of them. Ten, if he was as legendary as everyone around here seemed to think he was. But that still left forty clubs, axes, and scimitars to deal with, not to mention all those gouging tusks. It looked like suicide.

  The ground swelled. The loose stones on the battlements quivered. Beside Colm, Serene covered her eyes. Lena let go of the edge of the stone wall she’d been gripping and took a step backward. They were only twenty yards apart now. Ten. Five.

  Suddenly there was a booming crack, loud enough to make Colm cover his ears. The steed and her rider skidded to a halt just as the ground trembled and split right in front of him, a huge wall of stone erupting from the earth in the middle of the field, towering up toward the clouds in an instant. The first row of boars crashed into the spontaneously erected rock wall, careening into one another, spilling their riders. The stone wall was so tall, Colm could barely see over it, even from four stories up, and it caught nearly half of the orcs in the pileup. But the half behind split like a stream and circled around the wall toward the ranger, who had taken several steps back, swords in hands.

  Then there was another shout. One young girl pointed down over the ramparts, and everyone surged to see the other masters galloping forth on horses of their own, Tye Thwodin in the lead, riding a warhorse as big as a barge, his giant hammer incomprehensibly held upright in just one hand. The crowd let out another cheer. Colm cheered right alongside them.

  The two armies met in the middle of the field.

  What followed was pure chaos—a little like watching all of his sisters try and get ready for the town festival. A flurry of motion and squealing and squabbling with limbs flying, clothes ripped and torn, spit and sweat and even a little blood. Colm tried to take it all in at once, realized that was impossible, then simply let his eyes dance from one spectacle to another.

  He saw one orc take an arrow to the leg and fall from his mount. Saw another zapped by a jolt of lightning brought down from the clouds. He saw Smashy Two literally send a boar and its two riders airborne, somersaulting twice before hitting the ground. But for all there was to see—Master Stormbow crunching skulls with her mace; Master Velmoth, his rabbit ears somewhat shrunken but still bouncing, summoning balls of blue energy in his palms and tossing them at incoming riders; Master Thwodin smashing orcs from their mounts as if it were a carnival game—Colm’s eyes kept coming back to the ranger, Wolfe, who fought with the same ferocity as Master Thwodin but with twice as much grace, striking and thrusting, feinting and parrying as if it had all been rehearsed, a dance he’d performed a thousand times. Colm could hardly catch his breath.

  It was over almost as soon as it began. Though well over half the orcs still stood, they knew they were beaten. Gathering their wounded and remounting as best they were able, they sounded a plaintive howl of retreat and thundered back toward the edge of the forest, the chorus of shouts from the roof of the castle and Tye Thwodin following after them.

  “Did you see that?” Quinn asked, jumping up and down. Serene shook her head emphatically, only now peering through slits between her fingers. Colm looked around, casually at first, then with a stone dropping in his stomach.

  “Lena?”

  She was gone.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. She was j-j-just here,” Quinn stammered, instantly panicked.

  Colm searched the crowd. Quinn called her name. There was no response, though it was nearly impossible to hear anything through all the cheering. She should have been at the front, angling for a better view. She would have wanted to be as close to the action as possible. That was her way.

  “Oh, no,” Colm groaned to himself. Just then they heard some shouts coming from the corner of the parapet. Several trainees were pointing over the ledge. “Oh no,” he repeated.

  Colm, Quinn, and Serene shouldered their way to the front.

  “So typical,” Serene said.

  There, down below, far from the center of the battle that had already come to a close, stood a trio of orcs that had split off from their war band, looking for an easier way into the castle. Either they hadn’t heard the call to retreat or they were too brave or too stupid to follow it.

  Lena stood in front of them, sword in hand, just as brave and stupid.

  How she had sneaked past Master Merribell, Colm didn’t know, but it was definitely her. Grunting and snarling, the three orcs surrounded her, their black blades held high, ready to cleave her in two. Lena spun in place, trying to keep an eye on all of them at once. Colm glanced back toward the front of the castle. In the courtyard, Tye Thwodin was busy cursing the fleeing orcs, imploring them to come back and meet the end of his hammer. The masters didn’t know that one of their young dungeoneers was about to be skewered.

  “Quinn, do something! Shoot a fireball or something,” Serene pleaded, but the mageling just shook his head.

  “I have j-j-just as g-g-good a chance of hitting her!” he said. “Or you!”

  Colm looked around frantically and found a loose stone that had come free from the wall. It was pear sized, hardly big enough to do any damage, but with the right throw . . . Colm closed one eye and launched the rock over the side of the rampart, catching one of the three orcs in the shoulder, causing it to look up.

  It was just the distraction Lena needed. The moment the orc took its eyes off her, she spun and lunged, striking a blow that caused it to stumble backward. The other two swung for her, but she somehow managed to turn in time to deflect them. With cries of rage, the creatures advanced, lashing out, forcing her to the defensive. There was nothing subtle about their movements, and Lena managed to meet each stroke easily, but the force of their blows knocked her sword back every time, giving her no chance to recover. The orcs’ furious assault had her backed against the castle’s outer wall.

  Colm knew he had to act. It would take too long to get down there using the stairs; she wouldn’t last ten more seconds. The castle roof was four stories from the ground. A fall from this height would break several bones, but maybe he could use the stones to climb down somehow. He had one foot over the ledge when Serene’s hand stopped him. She pointed toward the courtyard, to a blur of black and gray bearing down on Lena and her two assailants, a blade in each of the rider’s hands.

  Anywhere and Anytime struck once apiece, and it was over. Two orcs hit the ground, and the third scurried away with a shriek. Grahm Wolfe circled around, leaned over, and with one hand pulled Lena up to his horse. The crowd around Colm loosed another cheer. Serene leaned over the castle wall, head in her hands.

  “She’s safe,” Quinn said.

  “She’s something,” Colm said.

  Down below, Lena wrapped her arms around the ranger newly returned, burying her head in his cloak.

  As quickly as they had galloped up the stairs to the roof to watch the battle, the wave of young dungeoneers washed back down to the great hall to see the victorious masters parade through the doors. The entry was instantly filled with the hulking frame of the guild’s shining founder, Smashy Two sitting atop his shoulder, a look of satisfaction emblazoned on his face. There was a round of huzzahs as the rest of the masters filed in, chins in full jut, eyes burning with blood lust and pride.

  Bringing up the rear was Master Wolfe.

  For the first time, Colm got a good look at his face. It was depressingly handsome. Thin scruff of black beard and cold gray eyes like thunderclouds. Not a scar to be seen. Finn had a certain charm, a disarming smile, but his face was too sharp. Master Wolfe looked positively princely.

  Beside him, armor covered in mud, Lena walked with her chin dug into her chest. Neither of them seemed to pay any heed to the
cheering, even though Master Wolfe had been responsible for taking out seven orcs himself—and that was only what Colm had seen.

  “Well, that was a romp,” Tye Thwodin bellowed. “Who did they think they were, taking on Thwodin’s Legion, hm? And on our own home turf, no less. Now, who wants dessert?”

  The crowd of dungeoneers cheered in affirmation, then followed the boisterous master back toward the dining hall, the founder calling for Fungus to serve up something rich for a change. Colm, Quinn, and Serene held back. Master Wolfe had drawn Lena aside and was talking to her in whispers. He wasn’t pointing fingers, and his expression never changed. If it was a lecture, it was a mild one. Finally she nodded and he touched her lightly on the shoulder, then turned away. Colm watched the ranger quickly catch up to Master Thwodin and pull him over to the spiral staircase, their heads pressed close together, quickly immersed in quiet conversation.

  Lena shuffled over to them. She had a strange look on her face. Colm quickly considered what to say. He should tell her just how foolish she had been, to sneak off like that and run blindly into a battle all by herself. A speech on the nature of teamwork and patience and knowing one’s limitations seemed called for. He also wanted to mention that it was he who had thrown the stone that distracted the orcs, just in case she didn’t know. He cleared his throat. “That was . . . ,” he began.

  “I know,” she said. She looked at him briefly, but then her eyes gravitated toward the stairs and the ranger who had rescued her. “Amazing,” she finished. “Did you see him? Did you see what he can do?”

  “Not quite what I was going to say,” Colm mumbled, but he had lost his chance to say what he really thought. Over by the stairs, Tye Thwodin nodded gravely at something Master Wolfe was saying. Colm watched Lena stare a moment more. Then he turned away and looked around the now-empty hall.

  He spotted Finn, standing on the far side, underneath the clocks, hands tucked into his pockets.

  Staring intently at the returned ranger as well.

  10