by Hugo Huesca
“There’s one last thing,” said Manfred. “A, uh… a moral cost. Our friend in common, the Thief, said that you require the divining to be immediate, isn’t that right? But you only have a name and a general location. My advanced-ranked spells need more than that to go on, so I’ll have to use a ritual. A ritual with an experience cost.”
What Manfred meant by speaking of moral costs was that a good mage-for-hire like him never paid those experience costs with his own pool.
So it was Nicolai’s duty to either sacrifice his own points, or provide them in another manner.
“Ah, that won’t be an issue at all, friend Manfred,” said Nicolai. “My organization has a surplus of experience points at the moment.”
He gestured at the warehouse that extended behind Rolim, down the stairs that led to the vault’s entrance. The faint echo of the beggars’ wails traveled into the office as if commanded by Nicolai’s will.
In a way, they were. But Nicolai wasn’t in the mood to get metaphysical.
“That’s…” Manfred’s pasty double chin went almost gray with fear. “That’s… Dark magic you’re asking of me. If the Inquisition finds out about this, they—”
“They’ll soon have bigger problems. There’s nothing to fear from them,” Nicolai cut in. He walked behind the desk, opened a drawer, and rummaged through its contents. “Don’t worry, friend Manfred, after you do this little job for us, you’ll become a part of my family. And like Rolim here can attest to, I think there’s nothing more important than family. For you—a gift—free of responsibility, to show you how much I care about you.”
He handed the Diviner the ivory-encrusted flask that had belonged to the elf. Manfred opened it and smelled its contents, but it was clear from his ravenous attitude that he knew what it contained. Pixie dust.
“Hell, you can even keep the tusk,” said Nicolai, then tossed the pipe to the mage, who caught it mid-air like a man in the desert may catch a water flask.
Nicolai and Rolim exchanged a brief, triumphant gaze that Manfred missed because he was staring lovingly at his prize. They had gained a Diviner. Manfred would locate Edward Wright’s lair for them, and he’d also find Katalyn better than Brondan could.
All for the good of the cause.
13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
UNDERCITY
The Mess Hall was mostly empty, but that was because Ed had built it to fit all the current Haunt population, including the villagers and Laurel’s cluster. It was connected to the kitchens and to the human quarters, which were empty, too, although hopefully that would change before winter struck with all its might.
There were about a dozen wooden tables all pushed together near the walls, with a single one remaining in the middle. The reunion took place around it. A batblin-sized barrel rested on the center of the table, surrounded by clay jars and mugs for everyone.
Around Ed, Andreena grinned proudly, while the ex-Governor Brett sampled his second mug of ale of the evening. Alder, Lavy, and Klek were there, along with Heorghe, Kes, Zachary, and a group of batblins. Even Princess Tulip was present, hanging by strand of web from the ceiling. She was Laurel’s envoy in the Haunt while the Queen was off fighting her war of conquest. Her job was to translate the spiderling messengers and to sample Andreena’s ale, which was a job mostly self-imposed.
“I actually like this batch,” Brett conceded. His nose had turned red, like a clown’s. “The others, no offense, tasted a bit like batblin piss.” Behind Brett, two of the batblins stared at the ceiling and pretended like they hadn’t heard the accusation.
“Too strong,” complained Alder as he put down his mug, still full. “A couple sips of this brew could blind an elephant.”
“Or a batblin,” agreed Klek, who wasn’t drinking.
“Absolutely true,” Heorghe said while he poured himself a third mug. “I always knew that Heiligians couldn’t hold their alcohol.”
“I’ll be glad to prove you wrong, Erghe,” slurred Zachary, who was heroically trying to keep up with the blacksmith. Ed judged that the priest was about two mugs away from forgetting how to walk. In fact, the priest’s Agility was slowly draining itself with temporary penalties, which increased with each sip.
“Sorry about the extra punch,” said Andreena, who wasn’t sorry at all. “I may have overdone it with the yeast, but Ed didn't want to wait another two weeks to make another batch.”
That’s right, Ed thought. They didn’t have another two weeks. It had been a month since his encounter with the wraith and Nicolai, with no news from Katalyn. It was time to make a move, since he had mostly exhausted what he could do inside the Haunt without money.
“Another batch, for what?” asked Zachary. “I saw the barrels you’re keeping in the storage rooms. There’s enough of them to keep us warm for months.”
“What were you doing in the storage?” Lavy asked the priest.
“Why, I was convincing the batblins to pray with me,” the priest said. There was a strand of ale and saliva coming out of the corner of his mouth.
Lavy’s eyes narrowed. “What were the batblins doing in the storage—”
The batblins, now that Ed took a good look at them, were slightly fatter than when they had first arrived. He made a mental note to heighten the security in the kitchens and interrupted before Lavy could curse the critters for stealing her food:
“Everyone, those barrels aren’t for us. They’re for selling,” he said, trying to give his voice a confident edge.
“Selling?” asked Heorghe. “I know Andreena, Alder, and you have been going off to the villages, but there aren’t enough taverns to buy that much booze; most farmers make their own, anyway.”
“That’s why we aren’t going to the villages,” said Ed. “We’re going to sell them in Undercity.”
“You want to sell homemade booze in Undercity?” asked Kes, who hadn’t heard about this part of Ed’s plan until now. “You can’t do it without a license, that’s illegal… Oh, what am I saying, we’re criminals already.”
Ed gave her a thumbs up, acting like her resignation was actually unconditional support. “That’s right. We need the money, and I know someone there who can help us move the barrels without raising suspicion from the Watch.” And it would be the perfect excuse to make sure Katalyn was doing all right. Ed didn’t believe that Nicolai had sat idle the entire month, and even if that wraith had continued roaming the halls of the catacombs, the risk was too great that it would find its way into a populated area, where its Endurance-drain would ensure a massacre.
But the money was an important part. With it, they could buy good-quality silver to make weapons, as well as buy armor, runes, and extra defenses for the dungeon. He could acquire the scrolls that Alder and Lavy needed to learn new spells, and he could hire the special trainer that Kaga’s kaftar required—and also pay their fees. Hell, he could finally pay his minions what he owed them.
“Why now?” asked Brett. “You haven’t been around for the heart of winter, Lord Edward, but the storms are over and we’re days away from the snow arriving.” The man shuddered as if he were already knee-deep in snow. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait for spring?”
Andreena snorted. “Think like a merchant, Brett! Winter is the perfect season. The taverns in Undercity will pay extra for our brew because the farmers that supply them won’t make the trip to Undercity through all the snow. Tavern owners could buy more stock from the merchant ships, but those are expensive.” She counted with her hand as she listed out. “There are taxes, licenses, permits, bribes, all for some watered-down Heiligian beer.” She grabbed her mug and held it up high. “For a good, strong, Starevosian brew? Oh, they’ll pay a pretty penny… and do it gladly! Because people will come to their taverns to drink it.”
Zachary snorted, spilled his mug down his shirt, and collapsed to the floor.
“It is strong,” said Alder, while the drones carried the priest to his chambers.
Kes shook her head sadly. “
It’s a good plan, except for one small detail. There’s no way we can bypass Undercity’s walls. They’re too tightly guarded. For starters, the doors are enchanted to find Dark-aligned creatures, including Dungeon Lords and their minions.” At this, she pointed at Ed and then gestured at everyone around him. “The guards at the towers have enchanted lenses to detect anyone smuggling anything illegal into the city, the walls are engraved with runes to stop climbers… and those are only the defenses I know.”
“People smuggle items and themselves into Undercity all the time,” Heorghe pointed out. “Everyone knows it.”
“Smugglers have a system for that,” Kes said. “They know people, they pay bribes, are friends with the Watch—”
“Actually,” said Ed, “we aren’t going through the city gates.” He let his words hang in the air for a moment, a bad habit that he had gotten from Alder’s obsession with dramatic reveals.
“Do you plan on flinging us over the walls with a catapult?” asked Lavy, raising an eyebrow. The batblin group chatted nervously—they knew who were the minions that Dungeon Lords liked to fling from siege engines.
“I’m pretty sure you’d need a trebuchet for that kind of altitude,” Kes told the Witch. The batblins looked even more nervous.
“No,” Ed said, “we aren’t going over the walls.” He gave them his best mysterious grin. “It’s time for you all to meet the Infiltration Team Alpha.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you prepared to infiltrate Undercity a month ago and refused to tell anyone,” Kes said.
She and Ed arrived at the secluded hill where he had left his drone team the morning after escaping the wraith with Katalyn. The sky was gray and humid, and the grass was still wet from the previous rains. Ed’s boots sloshed through the mud with every step.
“I know, right?” said Alder, only a couple steps behind them. The Bard was panting from the long walk, and it would’ve been even worse without his recent increase in Endurance. “What an excellent display of dramatic timing! Well done, Ed, you saved me quite a bit of trouble when I tell the story later.”
“Thanks,” said Ed. “I learned it from you.”
Alder beamed at him. Kes muttered something in a language Ed couldn’t understand.
The woman looked at the sky, then glanced over her shoulder. “Hurry up with those, we’re just hours away from snowfall.”
About two hundred meters away from her, the two dozen drones that were pushing and pulling the carts loaded with four man-sized barrels scowled at her. They didn’t need to speak to make themselves understood. If Kes wanted to hurry them up, she could help them push.
“I’ll pull your carts when you pay me, my Lord,” Kes told Edward, who shrugged and raised his open palms.
While the drones arrived, Ed willed Infiltration Team Alpha to come out into the open. He sensed them somewhere underground, but since their location wasn’t part of his dungeon, he could not pinpoint it with exact certainty.
The team responded to his call, but it took them about ten minutes to appear, during which time the drones with the carts reached the three humans.
For this operation, Ed had only brought Kes and Alder. Klek would get mistaken for a batblin slave, horned spiders bigger than a spiderling were obviously out of the question, and Lavy had laughed out loud when asked if she wanted to come to Undercity.
“Go to the murdery place filled with thieves and assholes and dung running through the street?” Those had been her words. “Oh, I could do that, but I could also stay in my cozy new laboratory and play with the arcane secrets of reality itself. Alita’s tits, what a hard choice!”
So, she had stayed, still mumbling sarcastic remarks as Ed walked away. Kes was here for protection, and because she knew the city better than Alder. Alder had joined because he had refused to stay away from Ed when he, in the Bard’s words, was begging to run into trouble.
“And trouble is just another word for a quest,” Alder had said. “Unless it kills you. Then it was really trouble, and you should have stayed home.”
The grass trembled, and specks of dirt rolled away, getting progressively bigger. The ground there looked a bit different from the forest floor that surrounded it.
“There they are,” Ed said.
The hidden entrance collapsed and revealed a passage big enough to fit a small cart loaded with ale barrels. Covered in dirt, head-to-toe, in a way that made their purple tunics look black-and-brown, were the members of Infiltration Team Alpha.
They looked proud of their job, which had taken them more than a month to accomplish—but accomplish it they had.
“Excellent work,” Ed told them, which made them puff their tiny chests out. “I couldn’t have found a group of drones better suited for the task. You did the Haunt proud.”
The drones cackled with excitement.
“It weirds me out when you treat them like people,” whispered Alder. “I’m afraid they’ll come to believe you.”
Ed unsummoned the drones. He would resummon them back in the Haunt, when he returned. As a reward for their efforts, he planned to assign them to a comfy mining job, which was the drones’ favorite task.
“Well,” he said, walking toward the carts to help the other drones push. “We better hurry. Like Kes said, snowfall is almost here.”
It was going to be a long walk through that dark tunnel.
IN SOME PLACES OF UNDERCITY, night was as dangerous as walking naked and alone through Hoia Forest while covered in honey, character sheet in full display.
Every morning came with the certainty that the Watch would find a new corpse floating down the canal, or that society would hear about how a werewolf had smuggled itself onto a merchant ship and slaughtered an entire family before either adventurers or the Watch killed it.
People did not live in fear. Violence and death were as natural a part of life in the city as the taverns and the whorehouses. Most did not pay attention to rumors anymore; bloodshed wasn’t a worry unless it was your own blood being shed.
And if anyone—mostly sailors—argued with the locals about the wickedness of the city, they’d get laughed at, and possibly stabbed to make a point.
For all its vices, Undercity wasn’t evil. It was corrupt, violent, and disgusting.
But real evil was outside the walls, and the walls were meant to keep it there. South of the city, long past Galtia with its black mountains, were the Wetlands, and all the horrors that slithered out of that primeval swamp. North was Heiliges, and although no one would speak against the Imperial authority, everyone knew the Inquisition was a tad too happy with their purges. Thankfully, Heiliges was an ocean away, and happy to leave Undercity alone as long as the tribute kept flowing and Alita’s altars kept churning out prayer. Lotia was south-west, and everyone knew of Lotia’s reputation. Better to keep those guys outside. Better to keep everyone outside, thank you.
Undercity was a bastion of civilization in a world filled with murderous lunatics, most of which weren’t even humanoids. Survival wasn’t pretty, and it sometimes required ugly measures that made no one proud. At least that’s what the slave traders of Shevas Garden would tell you in between trying to convince you to buy premium Bone Nettle seedlings—still young enough to wail for their mothers with their eerie, teeth-filled plant-mouths.
It was winter night when the first snowflakes floated onto the shoulders of the revelers that stumbled out of the Azure Nightowl Casino; no one expected anything but the start to another normal winter. In the morning, people would wake up and go about their day while the street pastors dug out the frozen bodies of beggars and drunks and loaded them up into their carts.
No one suspected the arrival of the Dungeon Lord, who, as of now, banked on King Gregory Avenue, had tunneled his way into the city and completely bypassed the walls’ defenses.
Undercity had dealt with Dungeon Lords before. They were mostly someone else’s problem, with their dungeons hidden in the wilderness, occasionally coming out to raid a village or two until the I
nquisition and their inhuman Heroes dealt with them. All the merchants would insist that rumors of trade between the city’s black market and the dungeon minions of Kael Arpadel were all uninformed lies. The Treasury supported the merchants’ claims; after all, they paid their due tax, mostly in the form of under-the-table bribes to their local officer.
But tonight, it wasn’t just a minion or a spy or two who arrived in Undercity, but the Dungeon Lord himself, and he brought with him a kind of evil that the noble Treasury of Undercity detested with all its might: the evil of unregulated, unlicensed, black market alcohol production.
Across the rich district of Mullecias Heights, officers of the Treasury and the Diviners in their employ all suffered from uneasy dreams, and many woke up screaming and covered in sweat, their eyes searching the shadowy corners of their rooms for a monster that wasn’t there.
The absence of a monster in their chambers brought them little respite. It meant it was somewhere out there, roaming the streets, and very much untaxed.
14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE WELCOME
The end of the tunnel brought them to the middle of a dead-end alley with its surface covered in trash. The smell of decay and humidity permeated the cold air that flowed inside the tunnel as Ed stole a look around to make sure the alley was empty of people.
He noticed the small snow mounds, slowly growing in the corner. The ground was damp and quickly turning to mud.
“We better hurry,” he told Kes and Alder. The cold was almost unbearable, and it filtered through his armor, his jacket, and his fur-sleeved shirt, straight into his bones. His hands and nose were numb, and Alder was shivering openly.
He helped the mercenary and the Bard out of the hole and left two drones inside the tunnel to close it, with the carts with the barrels still inside—it’d look too suspicious if they were caught walking with them, and they had nowhere else to hide them. All the other drones he had already sent back to the Haunt where they ought to be.