"What's the plan?" Welf rasped.
Konrad had ideas—but would they work? Twenty riders, twice as many footmen. Three dozen expendable meatshields that those would've discarded without hesitation.
"Clear the dungeon," he proposed, "then escape." He only got this far.
"Genius. How?"
The boy gripped his vial of ink, half of the puzzle burning his palm. "Work in progress."
Good thing, they finished copying that codex. Even if he missed half of it, that knowledge could've saved them. And he had an expert with him, too.
"We're going at night, so it's easier to enter," Welf grunted. "More monsters slip away, and the light doesn't affect the dungeon anyway. It's a pocket dimension, or that's what Lily said."
Even thinking about her garbled his thoughts, but—
"We're here," mercenaries yelled. "Start earning yer keep."
Wherever that 'here' was. No gate to draw his eyes, but the vibrations—
Soldiers spread out, ushering the pariahs forward.
"I've twenty riders on the exit closer to town." Vargas slid off his saddle. Other exits?! "These'll stay to chase monsters that'd get away. The rest—"
"Whatever. Livestock goes first, then heavies," a thug interjected. "Half my men stay in reserve."
Konrad didn't know what a heavy was, but he had a hunch what he meant by livestock.
The guard's captain shrugged. "Your contract binds until—"
"We'll do yer dirty work," the merc interrupted. "But gear's expensive, we'll play it safe."
Hearing 'safe' while about to sacrifice the pariahs boiled Konrad's blood.
"I'll go with the vanguard," he volunteered, and Vargas froze, wheels turning inside his head.
Before he protested, the thug laughed. "Why'd ye throw away yer fine animal?"
Konrad's face twitched, but to his surprise, Welf didn't gut him on the spot.
"He's for combat," he forced a smile. "A waste of coin if he's idle."
"Hah, like yer attitude," the man scoffed, patting his shoulder. If only he had a sanitizer to wipe away his germs—or the man himself. That one had to die first.
"This way, then," Vargas led them to an unassuming burrow.
The boy almost questioned his sanity when a Griphlet flew out of it with a maddening shriek. They were in the right place—and within seconds, chaos erupted.
"Kill it," mercenaries screamed.
A limb flew across the night, crimson rain in its wake. By the time Konrad drew his sword, a thug's neck snapped with a sickening crunch. Talons raked another, more red, more cries.
That was one monster.
By some miracle, no pariahs fell, but before the riders reacted, three footmen died.
"Ye bastard, a greater dungeon? Contract's void," the Crows' captain cornered Vargas. "Pay reparation. And you, it was yer job to distract them." He kicked his tribesmen around.
"Can't believe they found it," Welf gritted his teeth as the men brawled for the crystal drop.
He still held back, but morale was wavering.
"A dungeon's a dungeon," Vargas scoffed. "Break the contract and I'll hunt you as deserters."
There was no heat behind their argument; it was haggling.
"Looting rights," the thug was greedy and eager. "Plus compensation for the fallen."
"Loot anything but the core," Vargas countered. "No compensation. Start digging."
"Greater dungeon?" Konrad whispered as pariahs dug the burrow out with bare hands.
"Rare stuff. Worse than what I'm used to," Welf rasped, arms twitching, as he looked at his comrades. "A huge monster protects the core. Liliske would be jealous—"
"Huge?" The boy tried not to think about her. "Worse than the Griphlets?"
"They might be the weakest of the bunch," Vargas joined in. "Kasserlane hadn't got one in decades. The core's worth thousands in gold, but the duke already claimed it—"
Political reasons, my ass—
"Let's bail," Welf ground his molars. "The tribe—"
"They're dead," Vargas nodded, solemn. "No idea what Lady Gabby thought, but with that large-scale breakout yesterday—"
Right. Gabrielle was in this. And something about martyrdom?
"No shame in running," Vargas patted his shoulder. "The duke's army assembles by tomorrow. Staying in the rearguard would still look nice on that letter—"
"No," Konrad swiped his hand, voice firm. "I'll take the vanguard."
"I'm with you," Welf nodded, pale. "It'll be a noble last stand."
Screw that. He wasn't here to play noble or die. He wanted to break the tyrants.
He had the ink; half the tools. He only needed a crystal and to figure out how to use it.
"Well, survive, and your title's secured." Vargas only cared about that. "If not—"
He'd get another dupe for his retirement.
"There, hole's wide enough. Cut them chains, and arm the livestock," the thugs' captain ushered them forward. Konrad stared into the abyss. "Yer time to shine, lads."
The air vibrated, the vial burning in his pocket.
He couldn't comprehend the alien vegetation: glowing mushrooms, purple vines, stalagmites.
But he had to focus. Right now, they were the meat shield of the meat shield.
Without the chains, the pariah's survival chance went from absolute zero to one in a million. But when they shuffled like zombies— He felt a buzz.
A Griphlet charged; the shrieking came too late. But the blacksmith was ready.
Gripping his sword by the blade, he wielded it like a spear in the narrow space. The monster impaled itself by its momentum and went out in a puff of smoke. Blink and you'd miss it.
A crystal glinted in the torchlights. Exactly what he needed—
"Slave isn't bad," the thug noted. "I wouldn't give 'em arms that'd harm me, though."
Those clubs he gave the pariahs couldn't scratch his heavies. They wore cumbersome armor. Visibility must've been poor, too, and it looked uncomfortable and hot.
But they might've stopped a cavalry charge—if not cowering behind emaciated bodies.
"Now, be nice and hand over yer crystal." The captain demanded. "We've looting rights—"
Konrad scoffed, blocking his path while Welf picked it up.
"That's for whatever you kill." He stood firm. He wouldn't let—
"And what if I kill ye?" That locked the boy's throat.
If laws on the ground were a mere suggestion, the gloves were off here underground.
Heavies pressed forward, and his plans already crumbled.
Welf was about to jump in, but they couldn't afford to confront them yet.
Without either the ink or the crystal, his magic was useless. He'd only last seconds, which was—
Orange light; waving aura. Focus.
"A-are you threatening the Green Mage's apprentice?" If only his voice didn't shake. But the dancing flames did the trick. The thug scowled; his soldiers froze.
Konrad gripped his sword, knuckles white. If he convinced them that he was in control—
"Ye'r lucky I like boys with balls." The mercenary stumbled back. "Usually from behind."
Konrad almost threw up, mana running out, but the thug withdrew. He kicked a pariah on his way, and the illusion fell the moment that poor soul did. Welf had to catch him, too.
His heart almost exploded, his vision blurring.
The thug's grunt scared the tribals away, but Konrad gritted his teeth to play the cavalier for the girl. She was around his age, with matted hair, ribs poking through rags, sunburnt skin peeling.
But her eyes—near-dead as they were—had the strangest color.
Before he could touch her, tribesmen slid between them, hissing to block his path. The girl flinched against the wall, too, and if not for Welf's hands, he would've fallen over as well.
"They only got beatings from your kind," he whispered, handing over the crystal. "Don't blame her. And take this if it was worth almost dying for."
A familiar, purple pulse filled his mind with runes and syntaxes. Options. Opportunities.
"Of course, it was." As the dizziness eased, his face contorted into a grin. "With this crystal, the Rabid Crows will learn fear tonight."