The Dungeoneers

by John David Anderson

  He spotted Lena instantly. She was surrounded by no fewer than ten other apprentices, encasing her like a second set of armor. She waved him over.

  “Naturally I was the one responsible for defeating the scorpion. It wasn’t that difficult, really. I considered wrestling it to the ground and flipping it over to expose its underbelly to the death knell of my sword, which would have been noticeably more barbaric, but time counts in a dungeon, and there are no points given for style.”

  The crowd of trainees beamed at Lena with doe-eyed wonder—the same look she got whenever someone mentioned Master Wolfe. The older girl who had had her leg broken by another scorpion’s pincer begged Lena to sign her cast. Lena pulled Colm toward her.

  “Of course, we wouldn’t have made it without this guy,” she said. “The best rogue in Thwodin’s Legion. Heck, the best rogue in all the land. Isn’t that right?”

  Colm smiled nervously, waved to the gawkers. They all waved back with three fingers and a thumb. He couldn’t tell if they were mocking him or saluting him. The girl with the cast smiled politely at Colm, then turned back to Lena.

  “But how did it feel, you know, when you were stung? Did you think you were going to die?”

  “Are you kidding?” Lena scoffed. “I hardly felt a thing. If it hadn’t been for a structural flaw in my armor, the beast never would have touched me. I plan on writing a note to the blacksmith who manufactured it, recommending several improvements to the design. . . .”

  Colm had heard enough. He slipped away—it wasn’t difficult—and found Serene and Quinn hiding at their table. Maybe it was the incident with the frosted roll, or maybe it was their newfound fame, but Quinn had hardly touched his food for once.

  “To the victor go the spoils indeed,” Colm said, glancing back over his shoulder at the radiant barbarian and her newfound groupies.

  “That’s always the way,” Serene said with a smirk. “The warriors get all the attention. It’s the shiny armor, I think. And the swagger. She definitely has the swagger.”

  “You mean you two don’t have little mobs following you around?” Colm asked, thinking about all the people who had at least greeted him on the way down. Serene shook her head.

  “I’m the Girl Who Whispers into Her Robes a Lot and he’s . . .” She looked at Quinn, who scowled.

  “I’m What’s His Face . . . You Know, the Short One,” he said.

  Apparently word had already gotten out that Quinn hadn’t done much down in Renny’s dungeon. Not that he could be blamed. It wasn’t his fault he had ingested three full servings of Magic Dan’s Anti-Magic Paste. “At least that’s better than Smoke for Brains,” Colm said, using one of the names whispered about Quinn after the whole fire-out-the-ears incident.

  “Who called me Smoke for Brains?” Quinn whined. Colm tried to change the subject as Lena finally pulled herself away from her admirers.

  “You sure they don’t want to join us?” Colm asked when she sat down, all flushed, fanning herself.

  Lena shook her head. “What? No. They just wanted to hear how I slew that giant, disgusting, deadly monster, is all.”

  “Did they want to hear about your fainting too?” Quinn asked.

  “Or how I cured your paralysis?” Serene added.

  “Or how you started freaking out and hacking away at the ceiling while the rest of us were looking for the release on the trap?” Colm said.

  Lena’s shoulders slouched, the buzz of her celebrity crashing. “I told them all about you guys,” she said quickly. “I swear. It’s just . . . you know . . . whoever kills the dragon gets the glory.”

  “It was a bug,” Quinn muttered.

  “Technically, it was an arachnid,” Serene corrected.

  “Technically, it was ugly and freakish and terrifying and I’m glad you stabbed it,” Colm said. Truth was, he would rather Lena be the one in the torchlight. He was quickly discovering how much he preferred to be in the shadows. Quinn still looked sour, though.

  “Let’s be honest,” Lena whispered, leaning across the table. “We all know I wouldn’t have made it half a step down there without you guys.” She reached over and touched Quinn’s hand, and he softened instantly. “And speaking of ugly and freakish,” she added, looking around, “where are Tyren and his crew? We still need to get him back for that little icing stunt of his.”

  Colm looked around with her, but apparently Tyren Troge’s party had decided to skip breakfast, Ravena included. Off somewhere sulking, Colm thought with some satisfaction. He wondered if Tyren even knew what he had done, if he somehow learned that his prank had been the key to Colm getting past the enchanted lock. Of course, given how much of the icing Quinn had eaten, it could still be several days before he would cast a spell again. Maybe Lena was right. Maybe a little more justice was called for.

  “I’m not so sure revenge is the answer,” Serene said.

  “Don’t think of it as revenge,” Lena said. “Think of it as reciprocation.”

  That sounded like something Finn would say.

  Quinn smiled. Then his smile instantly disappeared as an obnoxious blast filled the dining hall. Colm turned to the archway to see Tye Thwodin with a copper cornet to his lips, face somehow even redder than usual as he blurted out the last of his breath, then handed the horn to the goblin standing beside him.

  “Attention, please.” He coughed. “Where’s the party of the hour?” The guild’s founder scanned the crowd, his eyes finally alighting on Colm’s table. He strode toward them, Herren Bloodclaw ambling behind, motioning behind Tye Thwodin’s back for them all to stand. The whole room was watching, silent, enthralled by the massive figure. Tye Thwodin’s hand shot out and grabbed Lena’s, swallowing it whole, dragging her to her feet. His voice easily carried throughout the hall. “Miss Proudmore, Mr. Candorly, Ms. Willowtree, and Mr. . . .”

  “Frostfoot,” the goblin whispered.

  “Frostfoot, yes. It is my pleasure, as head of this guild, to present you with your reward.”

  Colm looked at Lena expectantly. Her face was serious, but he could see her bouncing on the balls of her feet. Tye Thwodin snapped his fingers, and Herren Bloodclaw reluctantly unfurled a scroll. The goblin cleared his throat. “As winners of the most recent dungeon trials, slaying the monster and retrieving the treasure in record time, the party of Proudmore et al. is hereby entitled to the following reward—”

  Colm felt Lena’s arm around him, pulling him close. The room was suddenly so quiet you could hear Fungus snoring in the kitchen.

  “All the treasure they can carry from the . . .”

  The goblin stopped reading and looked up—way up—at Tye Thwodin, who stood with his arms across his chest, beaming at the lot of them like a proud father. “You can’t be serious,” Herren Bloodclaw said. “These four?”

  “Just read it, Renny,” Master Thwodin commanded.

  The goblin shook his head. “Ahem, all the treasure they can carry from the . . . very real dungeon into which they will accompany Master Thwodin in five days’ time.”

  Everyone froze. From the kitchen came another sonorous rumble. Then Tye Thwodin’s face exploded into an even bigger grin, his giant arms stretched wide. “So what d’ya think? Get to dive with the big boys, eh? How’s that for a reward?”

  “Oh, my leaves and branches,” Serene whispered.

  “You’re j-j-joking,” Quinn said. “A real dungeon?”

  Colm glanced at Lena. She looked like she was going to soak her armor. She was practically vibrating, biting her lip. A hundred pairs of eyes seemed to be staring directly at Colm. He wasn’t sure what he saw in their faces, jealousy or sympathy, envy or relief. Maybe all of it.

  “A real dungeon? With real treasure? And we can take as much as we want?” Lena asked.

  “Minus the guild’s cut, of course, and split according to your rank as outlined in our agreement. But yes—we’re not talking about some little goblin playground tucked in a basement. And best of all, I’m coming with you . . . and so
me of the other masters, of course.”

  Quinn’s mouth was working, his lips were moving, but he wasn’t producing any sound anymore, just indecipherable grunts. Tye Thwodin took them as groans of appreciation, though Colm was fairly certain they weren’t.

  “Don’t bother thanking me. It wasn’t my idea. It was Master Argos’s. He came up with it a while ago, said that whoever makes it through the trials should get a chance at the real deal—with chaperones, of course. In fact, I believe he already has a dungeon in mind.”

  “B-but what if we’re n-n-not ready?” Quinn finally managed to blurt out.

  Tye Thwodin cocked his head sideways, as if he didn’t hear quite right. “Not ready? Well, then I suppose we could offer the reward to the second-place party. Who was that, Renny?”

  “That would be Tyren Troge’s party,” the goblin said. Tye Thwodin started to look around the room, but he didn’t get very far.

  “Don’t you dare!” Lena said defiantly, stepping in front of Quinn.

  Colm stared at her. He couldn’t imagine talking to Tye Thwodin that way, but the head of the guild bellowed laughter.

  “By gods, she reminds me of me,” he said. “I wouldn’t dream of it, lass.” Master Thwodin turned to address the whole crowd of budding dungeoneers. “Now why don’t all of you take the morning off, as a reward for your efforts yesterday? It won’t be long before you’re all diving into dungeons and raking in coin!” The guild’s founder rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Won’t be long,” he repeated.

  After Master Thwodin left, goblin in tow, Colm and the others stared at their food for all of six seconds, then decided they were finished eating. Colm followed his comrades out into the great hall, with its whitewashed walls and its glittering chandeliers, listening to Quinn, who was no longer stuttering, though he talked without taking a breath.

  “Why couldn’t it have been gemstones? Or a new set of robes? Everybody likes new clothes! I’m not ready to go into another dungeon. I’m still recovering from the last one.”

  “This is an honor,” Lena insisted. “Most apprentices don’t even step foot in a real dungeon until they’ve been here a year or more. We are fortunate.”

  “I don’t feel fortunate,” Quinn said. “I feel like I might be sick.”

  Colm decided to follow rule number six a little bit, taking a step away from Quinn.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Quinn continued. “I want to go eventually. But in five days? I’m not even sure my magic will be back by then.”

  Serene snapped her fingers. “Since we’ve got the morning off, we should go see Master Merribell,” she suggested. “I once watched one of her elixirs bring a dead frog back to life. Of course, the next day she cut out its tongue and ground up its liver to make another potion—but that’s beside the point. She’s bound to have something to help get that Magic Dan’s stuff out of your system.”

  “She did help shrink Master Velmoth’s ears,” Colm added.

  Quinn nodded. “What will you two do?”

  “Are you kidding?” Lena said. “In less than five days, we will be deep in the festering putrid bowels of our very first bona fide, monster-infested dungeon. I’ve got to get sharpening.” She turned to Colm. “You want to come? I can make sure Scratch has a good edge.”

  Colm glanced around the great hall at the paintings, the stalwart portraits of heroes standing boot to claw with terrifying creatures. Suddenly the immense castle, with its giant marble pillars and its constant reminders of mortal danger, felt strangely claustrophobic, especially with all the sidelong glances from the other dungeoneers. He felt like everyone was watching him, waiting to see what he would say, what he would do. His eyes darted to the massive front entrance.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said. “I think I need some fresh air.”

  Master Velmoth’s giant slab of rock, produced during the orcs’ assault, still protruded from the center of the field edging the castle’s front courtyard. Colm touched it, marveling at how cool it stayed, even soaked in sunlight. He pressed his back against it and stared out across the sea of grass into the wall of woods beyond, from which, not too long ago, had poured dozens of screaming orcs—the first monsters Colm had ever seen, unless you counted Renny, of course, which Colm no longer did. Colm could still make out the hoofprints in the soft earth, punctuated by a scrap of armor or a broken arrow shaft, reminders of a battle that he had watched from a distance. He pictured Master Wolfe, sword in each hand, charging to meet the horde head-on. Lena called it bravery. Finn called it foolishness. Colm had sided with Finn at the time, though he supposed he could see it both ways.

  The trees seemed to stretch on forever. Somewhere beyond that interminable horizon lay roads and villages and homes where men mended shoes and sisters braided one another’s hair. There were also mountains and bogs and caves, and tucked somewhere beneath those, there were dungeons. Hundreds of them. And one in particular, picked out already. Colm reached into his bag and found his sister’s silver hairpin. He rubbed the butterfly’s shimmering wings with his thumb and wondered how far it was to Felhaven, if you were to just walk it, not travel by crystal or other magical means. Wondered whether, if he left here, he could ever find his way back.

  “Thinking about running away?”

  Colm spun, hand leaping to the hilt of Scratch—no doubt Lena rubbing off on him. He figured it was probably her, following him out here to ask what was wrong. Or maybe Finn. The rogue had a knack for appearing out of nowhere. But this was one of the last people he would have expected.

  Ravena stood just behind him, dressed in a black tunic and billowing black pants to match her hair. She looked to be more rogue herself today, though Colm knew she could be lots of things at once. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” he said.

  “For your information, that was exactly how you should sneak up on people,” she replied. “But I shouldn’t have to tell you that.” Her long braid of black hair hung like a chain down her back. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m just catching my breath,” Colm said. “What are you doing out here? Where’s your book? I’m not used to being able to see your whole face.” Though now that he could, he had trouble looking into her eyes for too long. It made him anxious. Not the nervousness that came from staring down one of Finn’s locks, but a different kind of nerves. A sort of clammy, clumsy giddiness that he didn’t really understand or have any control over. It wasn’t just because she was older or more talented than he was, though that was certainly part of it. It was something else.

  “Actually, I saw you slip out the door and came out to apologize. I know all about Tyren’s little stunt with the paste.”

  “It worked out okay,” Colm said, thinking about the look on Quinn’s face when Colm had scraped the icing from his chin to disable the lock. “It only slowed us down a little.”

  “Obviously not enough,” Ravena replied. “Though if we had ended up beating you, I would have said something to Master Thwodin about it.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “It’s not nice. It’s fair. We didn’t deserve to win. Not after that. Even if I hadn’t fumbled with that lock, even if we had beaten your time, I could never have accepted it.”

  “It was a tricky lock.”

  “Number twenty-four. Not that tricky,” she said.

  Colm stared at her.

  “Don’t look so dumbfounded. I’ve been working with Master Argos longer than you have. Surely you didn’t think you were the only one around here learning how to disarm traps and pick pockets?”

  “No. Of course not,” Colm said.

  “He did tell me that you are one of the most talented rogues he’s ever seen, though,” she added offhandedly.

  “Really? He said that?” Colm couldn’t help but sound surprised. Finn had said that directly to him at least a half dozen times, but it was different coming secondhand, knowing he said the same thing to others. Not just others. Ravena Heartfall
.

  She rolled her eyes. She was standing over him now. Shadowing him. “Of course, you can’t believe everything Master Argos says. Did he ever tell you how he got that scar of his?”

  “Pirates,” Colm said. “Or goblins.”

  “Fishing accident,” Ravena countered. “Or a failed assassination attempt. I’ve heard them all. They all have their stories, each one bigger than the last. Just like the rest of us.” Ravena knelt down and put her hand to the grass, just brushing the surface. Colm wondered if she didn’t have a little druid in her too. She glanced back at Colm, spied the butterfly in his hand. “That’s beautiful. Who did you steal it from?”

  Colm knelt beside her and held up the hairpin. “I didn’t steal it. It’s my sister’s.”

  “So you have a sister.”

  “Eight of them, actually.” He held the pin out so she could get a better look.

  Ravena took the pin, spinning it slowly in her own hand, pretending to make it fly. “I wish I had a sister.”

  “One, maybe. Eight is a little much. No brothers either?”

  “No sisters. No brothers. No mother. I grew up in a quiet house. I’ve learned to make do by myself.”

  “That explains some things,” Colm said, though he instantly wished he hadn’t.

  “Like what, exactly?” she asked, pinning him with her eyes.

  “Well . . . like how even though you are with Tyren and them, you aren’t really with them. I mean, you don’t really seem to fit, is all,” Colm managed.

  “They’re not as bad as they seem,” she said, handing Celia’s pin back. “Like all your warrior friend’s shiny weapons, most of it is for show. Tyren Troge would probably risk his life to save mine, if it came to it.”

  “I picture it the other way around,” Colm countered.

  “Maybe,” she said. Then she stood back up and looked behind her at the castle gates. “Though it looks like you’ll get a chance to go diving before I will. Do me a favor and tell Frostfoot I’m sorry, and pass along the apology to the rest of your party. And congratulations for winning the trials. You deserved it.”