5.39 (1/2)

When she’d first woken and seen him, he had been just as she remembered. Tall. Proud, his horns gleaming in the faded light. A warrior and leader. The Captain of the Horns of Hammerad. That prickly, stubborn, prideful, honorable friend she’d fought with for years.

Calruz. But when the shock had faded and she’d taken in the Raskghar and the captive Gnolls—seen the madness in his eyes, Ceria had seen him as he truly was. Calruz was not the same. Not at all.

It was a thousand different things. The first thing Ceria noticed was his fur. The short hairs on his body were rough and dirty, matted with dried blood in places. She could see scars beneath his fur in places. Calruz looked like a savage. The Minotaur she’d known had cared for his appearance as fastidiously as any [Knight]. This Calruz looked scarred and rough.

His teeth and odor were another part of that. Calruz looked like he hadn’t cleaned his teeth and he stank of rotten meat and sweat. And blood. The smell of blood actually covered most of the other smells. To Ceria, the Minotaur stank like a butcher’s shop. Unwillingly, her eyes drew downwards and stared at his arm.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to see the pinkish stump of flesh at his shoulder, but it still was. Calruz’s right arm, his dominant arm, was missing. Ceria could remember the moment when he’d lost it. She’d had nightmares of that moment, when Skinner had reached down and plucked Calruz’s arm off his chest.

She stared at his other arm. It was whole. Damaged—clearly injured in later battles from the scars—but intact. It looked bigger than she remembered. Dead gods, she’d forgotten how tall Calruz was. Taller than Gnolls or Drakes and Humans. Only Moore was taller. The Minotaur still looked like a mass of muscle. But his eyes and the crazed smile he gave her—

Insanity.

Ceria had seen it many times before. In half-Elves in the village she’d run away from, in [Mages] in Wistram—and adventurers. In everyone, really. Or maybe just the people she hung around. She knew madness. The different kinds that took hold.

The half-Elf villages were isolated bubbles where centuries could pass with little to no change. The elders there had been insane, babbling about the glories of half-Elves and their connection to their ancient ancestors. They were frightening—dangerous old half-Elves who had twisted their minds so firmly around an idea that they couldn’t think any other way.

By contrast, the [Mages] of Wistram had been crazy in a different way. They hoarded secrets and played games of politics in what they thought of as the center of the world. Like half-Elves they were cut off from the rest of the world. Those of them that dreamed of more—Ceria thought of Illphres. She had been insane, but in her own way. She had reached for the height of magic, been willing to risk her life for that end. You had to be insane to do that.

By contrast, adventurers were just normally crazy. They risked their lives for glory, levels, and gold. They would rather die with sword or wand in hand than live a peaceful life. They charged into danger for the reward and thrill of it. Ceria understood and admired that. But Calruz? When she looked at him she saw something that made her shudder.

He was gone. It was something in the way he looked at her, as if he’d found her after getting separated. As if he wasn’t standing in a dungeon, as if he wasn’t leading a tribe of murderous beasts and holding innocent people captive. It was something in his eyes. Or rather, something missing.

“You’ve returned to me.”

Calruz repeated himself. He reached out and grabbed Ceria’s shoulder. His hand was huge, rough. Warm. It squeezed Ceria and she felt a shock run through her. He was real after all. She wasn’t insane herself. She stared up at Calruz as he went on, eagerly, triumphantly.

“I knew one of my team had to be alive. All of our team couldn’t have fallen. But no matter how long I waited, you didn’t find your way down here. You must have…escaped the undead and that thing some other way. How many of the others made it? Gerial? Hunt? Sostrom? Barr? My Raskghar were only able to identify you by smell. If you tell me where the others are, I can send another raiding party to retrieve them.”

He gestured to the Raskghar moving about the large, cavernous room. Ceria opened her mouth, head spinning. Calruz shook his, sending his hair flying. Ceria saw a tiny black speck jump from his fur. He had fleas.

“Later, though. The damned Drakes must be on high-alert after our last raid. I would have captured three times as many Gnolls if they hadn’t discovered my elite team. Those fools must have given themselves away somehow.”

“They attacked the city? Again?”

For some reason that was the first thing Ceria focused on. Calruz turned, looking surprised.

“Of course! A day attack. I misled the Drakes into believing the Raskghar were only able to function at night. I hid a team armed with artifacts above. They were to attack and seize as many Gnolls as possible, but they were spotted somehow and forced to retreat. They returned with you and a few Gnolls, though. So their mission was not a complete failure. I spared them from punishment because they brought you. With you at my side, managing these savages will be far easier.”

He grinned at Ceria again, revealing a cracked tooth. Ceria stared at Calruz. Her mouth worked silently a few times. Then she just said it.

“No. What the hell are you doing, Calruz?”

The Minotaur blinked. He frowned at Ceria.

“Laying out our plan of attack, of course. We have a dungeon to conquer. Or haven’t you forgotten our mission?”

“Our mission? That was months ago! We failed, Calruz! The undead killed everyone! Skinner—that thing in the crypts wiped out our team!”

The Minotaur had no whites of his eyes. Rather, they were yellowish and his pupils were dark brown. He paused and Ceria saw his gaze flick to her uncertainly.

“Nonsense. I’m sure they escaped. You did. They’re in hiding, no doubt. We took—casualties—yes. But they can’t all be—what about Gerial?”

“They’re dead, Calruz! They’re all dead!”

Ceria screamed up at Calruz. He looked shocked, and shook his head in denial. But Ceria couldn’t believe any lie. She had been there. She had seen it all. She remembered Gerial pushing her back, striding forwards towards Skinner. She remembered having to identify his remains. She remembered—she felt sick.

“What is this, Calruz? You’re working with Raskghar? They’ve been killing innocent people! And—and kidnapping Gnolls? Why? Let them go!”

Calruz’s confused look hardened.

“The Gnolls are my prisoners. I told you. The Raskghar are my—my tribe. My warriors. Yes, that’s what they are. I found them. Forged the isolated Raskghar camps together. They’ve expanded since I became their leader. We’ve conquered a good section of the dungeon.”

“You ambushed adventurers. Killed them!”

“Those fools? They knew what they were getting into.”

The Minotaur waved a hand dismissively. Ceria stared at him. Then she looked at the Gnolls.

“Let them go.”

“No.”

Calruz turned his head. He looked irritated.

“I brought you down here to rejoin my team, Springwalker. Not to question my orders!”

“Your orders? Your orders?”

Ceria laughed hysterically. This was unreal! She couldn’t believe it. She wanted to throw up. She pointed at Calruz. Her living hand trembled.

“You’re crazy! Working with monsters? Abducting innocent people? Where the hell were you, Calruz! We were searching for you! We left messages! Why didn’t you try to get out of here? Why did you—”

Calruz was shaking his head, more and more violently. He erupted.

“Enough! Don’t—don’t question me! You are my subordinate! You will obey me! I am your captain!”

Ceria stared up at him. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Not anymore. I lead the Horns of Hammerad now, Calruz. We made a new team. We were looking for you. I wish we’d found you dead rather than like this.”

He jerked. The yellow whites of Calruz’ eyes began to turn red. Ceria’s heart beat faster. She recognized that. That was a bad sign. He was losing his temper.

“You replaced me? Me? I was in the dungeon this entire time! I was fighting! For our honor! For our pride! How dare you question me! Enough talk! You will follow my command!”

“Oh yeah?”

Ceria’s ability to banter was nonexistent. But to an enraged Minotaur, even that was too much provocation. Calruz raised his arm and made a fist.

“Do not test me, Ceria. I tolerate no treachery. None! Stop talking about the Gnolls! Stop questioning my—stop talking!”

She almost laughed. Almost. Ceria remembered that Calruz had been just as bad at witty repartee as she had. She’d always gotten under his skin. This time though—Ceria’s mirth faded. She looked up at Calruz and shook her head. She raised her skeletal hand and raised her middle finger. She waved it in front of the bull man’s face.

“No.”

He roared and punched at her. Ceria ducked. She felt a rush of air over her head and scrambled away. She was suddenly aware of all the Raskghar in the room. Oh hell, she hadn’t thought this through at all! Ceria rolled as Calruz swiped for her and drew her belt knife.

Ceria didn’t have a plan. If she had to put the rush of blood and fear into a plan, it would be to defend herself, and then take Calruz prisoner, somehow get the Raskghar to release the Gnolls, and make a break for it. She slashed at his arm with her dagger. Wound him, get the knife to his throat—

Her blade struck Calruz’ arm with all of her weight behind it as he grabbed for her. Ceria felt the impact, and then heard a ping. She saw the tip of her dagger snap on Calruz’ arm. The piece of metal fell to the ground with a ringing sound. Calruz’ arm on the other hand was unharmed.

“Oh hell. That’s new.”

Ceria raised her skeletal hand. Calruz seized her by the throat and lifted her up. He roared, spraying her with spit.

“Submit!”

The half-Elf pointed at his face. Calruz cursed and threw her a second before the [Ice Spike] shot from her fingers. Ceria landed hard, tried to get up, and felt a huge paw grab her. She twisted and the Raskghar slammed her into the ground.

The world went black and red. Dizzily, Ceria squirmed and felt another blow to her head. Something—the Raskghar held Ceria down. She felt warm blood trickling down the side of her head. The Raskghar growled as he held Ceria. She heard Calruz roaring with fury and then striding over. A huge hand reached down—

And seized the Raskghar. The furry beast man had only a chance to yelp in surprise before Calruz threw the Raskghar to the ground. Then he began kicking the Raskghar. Ceria scrambled to one side.

“Insubordination! You do not touch her without my permission! You dare to injure her? You?”

He pummeled the Raskghar with his feet, striking him with a hammer blow from his good arm when the Raskghar tried to rise and fight back. For all of the Raskghar’s huge size, Calruz was still bigger. And clearly, stronger. He had always been strong, but Ceria thought he had gained some kind of Skill. Calruz turned from the bloody, whimpering body at last and turned to Ceria. The red madness in his eyes made her brace, but suddenly, Calruz was calm again. He strode over to her.

“Did that fool injure you? Let me see your head.”

The half-Elf flinched, but Calruz’ fingers were gentle as he inspected her head wound.

“Superficial cuts. A bit of healing potion will fix that.”

Then the Minotaur frowned and looked down.

“What happened to your hand?”

Ceria blinked up into Calruz’s face. He sounded…normal. Still a bit crazy, but more normal. She swallowed the bile in her throat and tried to respond.

“I uh, lost it when I used a spell to hold off the undead. The magical backlash froze all the skin off.”

“Dead gods. But your hand works! Is it magic? Some kind of spell?”

Calruz stared down at Ceria. She could see the Raskghar behind him trying to get up, keening silently in pain. He’d lost some of his teeth! The other Raskghar growled at him, mocking, but a Cave Goblin scurried forwards with a cloth in one hand. The Raskghar grabbed it and knocked the Cave Goblin back. Pain begat pain. Ceria focused on Calruz.

“My hand? No it’s—I think it’s a half-Elf thing.”

“That creature. That flesh monstrosity.”

Calruz growled. He opened and closed his left hand, breathing heavily. He turned away from Ceria.

“Do you know where it is? I’ve searched for a way back up to the crypt. I fell down a—a hole. But I cannot remember where it was. However, I am sure that this time we can fell the beast. The Raskghar have artifacts. I have a weapon myself that will do the job. How many undead remain, do you think?”

Again, Ceria had to remember what he was talking about. She shook her head.

“Undead? None. That thing—it was called Skinner, Calruz. Remember the poem on the wall? The people of Liscor killed it. And all the undead that came out of crypt. Almost everyone in our expedition died. But Skinner—they killed him. It.”

This time, Calruz’ brows creased. He repeated her words slowly, as if trying to make sense of them.

“Slain? They slew it? That’s good. That is…all dead? All of them? You saw them? All of my Horns? Are they truly…?”

He looked at Ceria. She nodded slowly. The Minotaur stood very still, and then he sat. He covered his face with his hand.

“I see.”

Ceria took that moment to look around. The Raskghar were staring at her appraisingly. They didn’t look afraid—rather, they looked like predators eying up a main course. But they looked apprehensively at Calruz. Apprehensively, but with expectation as well. He was leading them! And Ceria saw too much intelligence in their eyes. She looked at Calruz. A bit of hope stirred in her chest.

“Calruz. Erin killed Skinner.”

The Minotaur gaped at her.

“The…[Innkeeper]? The Human female? With the skeleton? Yes. Yes, I remember her. She slew the monster? How?”

“Acid jars.”

Ceria watched Calruz’ expression change. Shock, indignation, and then—he laughed.

“Acid jars? Are you serious?”

She nodded. Calruz bellowed a laugh. He turned, made a fist, pounded his thigh. He laughed again.

“We should have bought everything she had! Acid jars? Truly? An [Innkeeper] did what four Silver-rank teams couldn’t? Acid jars?”

He roared with laughter. Ceria forced herself to smile and nod. She cleared her throat as Calruz’ laughter ebbed.

“Right. Erin killed Skinner. And guess what? That white Gnoll? The one your Raskghar kidnapped? She’s Erin’s ward.”

“She is?”

Calruz turned. He glanced at Mrsha, visibly confused. The little Gnoll was peeking out of her cage. She hid the moment Calruz turned, but she had been looking at Ceria. The half-Elf’s heart pounded wildly. If she could pull this off—

“That’s right. She took in Mrsha after Ryoka rescued her. Ryoka and Erin both care about Mrsha. These Gnolls are citizens of Liscor. You need to let them go.”

“Erin. Ryoka. Where is Ryoka? The last we saw her—”

Calruz shook his head. Ceria spoke quickly.

“It’s a long story. But I’m sure Erin—and Ryoka—are concerned for Mrsha. If you let her go…”

A rumble of protest sprung up from the Raskghar. Ceria looked at them, wide-eyed. They were listening! Worse, they understood. Calruz glanced at them and the rumble instantly faded.

“My people spoke of the white Gnoll. They believe she is special.”

White fur. Ceria glanced quickly at Mrsha. The Gnoll was peeking at her.

“She might be. But Ryoka saved her. Ryoka did. And Erin’s been raising her. Calruz. You should let her go. And the others.”

Calruz had been slowly nodding. Right up until Ceria said ‘others’. Then he paused. He frowned and looked at the Raskghar. When he turned back he shook his head.

“No. I told you. They are my prisoners. I have a use for them. You—I told you! That is not why I brought you down here! You will fight by my side! Leave the prisoners alone!”

“No. Let them go and I’ll join you.”

Calruz swung back to Ceria.

“You don’t make demands. I lead here! This is not a negotiation! Obey me or you will share his fate!”

He pointed at the bloody Raskghar. Calruz loomed over Ceria. The half-Elf felt his anger. Her legs shook, but she made herself stand taller. She made a fist with both hands and braced herself.

“Never.”

Again she saw Calruz’ face twist with fury. He raised a hand and Ceria gritted her teeth. She readied a spell. But this time Calruz’ madness took a different turn. He threw his head back and barked another short laugh.

“You always were insubordinate! It’s what I appreciated about you.”

He shook his head and turned away. Ceria lowered her hands. She felt another shiver crawl down her spine. This was not Calruz! He went from fury to humor in the blink of an eye. The Minotaur gestured around the Raskghar camp.

“This is why I needed you. Someone who could speak back when needed. Not like these Raskghar. They’re nothing more than beasts for most of the month. Only when the moon is nearly full do they regain any semblance of intelligence. We must make as many gains as possible now. Come, I need to show you around the dungeon. I plan to launch an offensive with your magics to back up my warriors. Can you cast [Fireball] with that wand or do I need to find you a better one?”

“Calruz—I told you no.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked at Ceria.

“And I do not accept that. You will work with me. I warn you, Ceria. Do not refuse me again. Join me.”

Ceria wavered. She crossed her hands behind her back, flicked her fingers. A bit of light flared, invisible to Calruz. Then she shook her head. Calruz’ eyes turned red again.

“I will not be disobeyed! You!”

He whirled and pointed. One of the Raskghar sitting on the ground looked up. She—it was a she—stood, looking wary. Calruz pointed at her.

“Take one of the Gnolls. Any of them save for the white one. You may perform the ritual. Do it now!”

The Raskghar bared her teeth. Alarmed, Ceria looked at her.

“Wait—”

Calruz swung back towards her. Now the insanity lit up his eyes.

“You did this. You forced my hand.”

She didn’t know what ritual he meant. But the way the Raskghar smiled made Ceria terribly uneasy. She looked at the Gnolls. But he wouldn’t hurt them because of her, surely. He might be insane, but she had never known him to compromise his honor. She croaked as she watched the Raskghar turn.

“Wait, Calruz, I—”

Too late. The female Raskghar stepped towards the cages at the back. They weren’t the typical barred cells that Ceria had seen in Human cities. These were more like boxes, made of metal and wood and tanned hides. For all that, they were impossible for the Gnolls to escape. The Raskghar had taken one item from Liscor’s City Watch—iron shackles. Bound hand and foot, the Gnolls could barely move.

There had to be at least sixty of them in the cages. Ceria saw the female Raskghar sniff, and then look from face to face. The Gnolls tried to edge back. There were children, males, females—Ceria saw the female look at a young male Gnoll. She opened his cage. A terrible foreboding seized Ceria. She ran forwards but a Raskghar grabbed her. Calruz growled.

“Hold her down. Make her watch.”

A pair of Raskghar forced Ceria down effortlessly. She tried to blast them with magic, but the blow to her head made her dizzy. And the Raskghar were forcing her hands down. She couldn’t aim at them. She shouted desperately at the Minotaur as he turned to watch.

“Calruz! Stop! I’ll obey you! Stop! I’ll do it!”

He ignored her. The Raskghar held Ceria down but she could still see. The female Raskghar entered the cell after barking at the others. The Gnoll in the cell jerked and struggled as the Raskghar entered. One ripped the shackles from his hands and legs after unlocking it with a key. That gave the prisoners a chance. Ceria watched, hoping—but in vain.

The Gnoll fought wildly, but he was surrounded. Four Raskghar grabbed his arms and legs and towed him out of the cell. The other Gnolls howled, fighting their restraints. The Raskghar watched. All of the Raskghar in the room had formed a circle. Around—Ceria’s heart stopped—a slab of stone in the center of the room.

It was just a piece of rock, but it was stained dark red. Ceria struggled and the Gnoll did the same. The Raskghar paid him no heed. They were—crooning. Making a soft growling sound as they carried him. All the Raskghar were making the sound. It was low, ominous. Expectant.

The four Raskghar carried the Gnoll to the slab of rock. They slammed him onto the flat surface. The Gnoll groaned and then stiffened as the female Raskghar stepped forwards. She had a jagged bit of stone in her hand.

“Calruz! Calruz! Don’t do this! Don’t—”

A paw muffled Ceria’s screams. The Minotaur didn’t look back once. The female Raskghar looked at him and he nodded. She raised the stone and the crooning sound from the Raskghar stopped. The sudden silence was complete. Ceria could hear nothing, not even her voice screaming. She felt something in the air. Magic? It made her sick to her stomach. She saw the Gnoll struggling, his tendons bulging beneath his fur. Then he looked over at her. His voice echoed.

“Half-Elf—tell my family in Liscor—tell them I thought of them—”

The female Raskghar brought down the chunk of stone. The Gnoll screamed as it pierced his breast. He surged, fighting the four Raskghar holding him, howling. The female Raskghar twisted the stone and he jerked and went still.

Ceria heard a howl, long and loud. The Raskghar lifted the bloody stone dagger and licked the blood from the tip. The Raskghar around her howled in triumph. The four surrounding the dead Gnoll stepped back. The female Raskghar bent and, to Ceria’s horror, began to tear at the Gnoll’s chest. She was eating something.

His heart.

The grisly feast took seconds. The entire time Ceria was staring at the Raskghar. At Calruz, who was watching, expressionless, his left hand clenching and unclenching impatiently. The female Raskghar chewed noisily and swallowed. Something like a sigh filled the room. Something changed.

When the Raskghar raised her bloody muzzle, her eyes glowed with inner light for a second. The Raskghar’s body shifted. Ceria saw the Raskghar grow slightly, her fangs and claws lengthening, her muscles developing. The change was slight, but when the Raskghar straightened she was taller, more fearsome than before. But the worse difference was in her eyes. Again. Only the Raskghar wasn’t mad. Fierce, bright intelligence shone from her gaze as she looked around. She wiped blood from her fur and licked it.

The room was silent. The Gnolls clung to each other, staring at the Raskghar, wide-eyed. Calruz grunted. He strode forwards and the female Raskghar turned to him.

“Well?”

“Good.”

The Raskghar’s growling voice made Ceria jump. She stared at the female Raskghar in shock. This Raskghar looked much like the others to her, but Krshia would have recognized her as the very same one she had met in Liscor. The female Raskghar’s deep voice rumbled as she addressed Calruz deferentially.

“Old way works. Gnolls make us stronger. Smarter. More blood means more power. All Raskghar will drink. Grow.”

The other Raskghar growled expectantly. They stared at the Gnolls. Calruz shook his head. he raised a finger, raised his voice imperiously.

“One for today. One. I will select another worthy Raskghar to conduct this ritual. The best of the warriors. You will take command of Dailre’s Fist. I expect greater results. The Gnolls will not be touched until then.”

The Raskghar female didn’t like that. She licked her lips.

“Want more Gnolls. More—”

Calruz’s face twisted into a snarl. He lashed out at the Raskghar, swinging so fast that Ceria heard the crack before she registered his left arm move. The female’s head jerked backwards. She howled in pain and surprise and lurched backwards, her ears flattening along her head. Calruz glared down at her.

“I decide! You will follow my orders or die. Is that understood?”

The air was tense. For a second Ceria thought the Raskghar would lash out, but she clearly thought better of it. Her eyes flashed with discontent, but she bowed her head submissively. Her tail lowered.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

“Go.”

She bounded back towards the other Raskghar. They made way for her, sniffing at her. Ceria saw the female glance back at her. Then she disappeared. Ceria turned her gaze back towards Calruz. The Minotaur nodded and the Raskghar let her go. He let her get up and looked at her.

Insanity. Or was it just him, now? Ceria didn’t know. She stared dully at the Minotaur. Calruz spoke coldly.

“Every time you disobey my orders I will sacrifice another of these Gnolls. Follow my command and I will let a few go. Perhaps even the white one.”

He nodded at Mrsha. Ceria stared at the Gnoll. Mrsha had seen the entire thing. She was trying to hide in the corner of her cell. She stared at Ceria with wide eyes. Calruz looked at Ceria.

“Well? Do I have to make an example of her?”

“No. No. Please, Calruz.”

Ceria hung her head. Calruz grinned.

“Good! I knew I made the right choice. You and I—we’ll bring the Horns to glory yet. This dungeon is halfway conquered as it is. Isn’t it?”

He waited. Ceria didn’t respond. Calruz instantly turned to fury again.

“Answer me!”

The half-Elf looked up. Calruz took a step back. Ceria was crying. Tears rolled down Ceria’s cheeks. She stared up at him. Silently. Calruz wavered. The fury left him. He stared at Ceria and reached out with his left hand. Then he turned away.

“Follow me. We have work to do. Fourth Company, to me!”

He roared and a group of Raskghar sprang to their feet. They ran after Calruz. Ceria watched him stride away.

“Ceria! Follow!”

Ceria didn’t waver. Her feet moved forwards. Slowly. Her voice was defeated when she spoke.

“Yes. Captain.”

The Gnolls in the room watched her silently walk across the broken, domed room. On the altar, the Cave Goblins were swarming around the Gnoll with knives, rusted swords. Turning him into food. Ceria looked once at him, and then at the captive Gnolls. She whispered a word that they all heard.

“I’m sorry.”

She flicked her fingers again. A spark of light shone. The Gnolls saw a tiny butterfly made of fire and light flicker into life and then disappear. The half-Elf turned. She followed Calruz into the dungeon.

—-

Mrsha sat in her cage. The shackles were tight on her paws. They hurt. She could barely move. And she hurt. A Raskghar had grabbed her, squeezed her and smacked her when she tried to bite. She’d thrown up. She was dizzy. Thirsty. And Lyonette was gone.

She’d tried to protect her. Mrsha remembered it. She saw the Raskghar burst through the front door again, saw Lyonette scream at her to run. Mrsha had run up the stairs, but the Raskghar was fast! He grabbed her on the stairs. And then Lyonette attacked him. Apista attacked him! But he hit Lyonette. Made her wrist bend and crack.

Mrsha could remember the sound. And he’d hit Apista so hard the bee had landed on the far wall. And then he’d run with her into the rain and she’d been dragged underwater, inhaled water and choked until he’d struck her to make her throw up—

And now she was in a Bad Place. A Very Bad Place. Mrsha knew it. She could smell the badness in the air. And the horrible not-Gnolls, the Raskghar made her shudder. She knew, just as certainly as she knew that Erin was nice and Lyonette was warm and that water was wet that the Raskghar were her enemy. She tried not to remember what she had seen. But the Gnoll’s last scream echoed in her ears. Mrsha tried to bury her head in her side, feeling the shackles on her paws. Only when she sensed she was being watched did she look up.

A Gnoll was staring at her. He had dark grey fur, streaked with reddish-brown stripes. He looked old. Not as old as Urksh had been, but older than one of the Stone Spear hunters. He was a Gnoll from Liscor. Mrsha had never seen him, but she could smell that on him. Along with his fear. He was one of the oldest Gnolls in the cages and she could see the others looking to him. Mrsha sat up. The Gnoll stared at her and then looked around the room.

The Raskghar were agitated. Many were clustering around the terrible female who’d performed the ritual. The rest had followed bad Minotaur out of the room. So had Ceria. Mrsha wondered why the Minotaur had captured her. She knew why he’d ordered the Raskghar to catch her. Her stomach turned over when she thought of that.

The old Gnoll was thinking the same things. He eyed the Raskghar. They were keeping away from the cages as Calruz had ordered. But every so often they would look over and sniff the Gnoll’s scent. They stank of blood and death and grown up things. None of them washed, Mrsha was sure. She edged her bottom away from them. The Gnoll glanced at her and then he spoke in a gravelly voice.

“Doombringer.”

Mrsha froze. She stared at the Gnoll. Her heart beat painfully in her chest and her stomach did another flop. The Gnoll shook his head tiredly.

“I did not believe it myself, no. I thought the legends and tales were just that. So Krshia claimed and I believed her. But I see the Raskghar here. Ancient enemies, stories made to frighten cubs. And I see you. And I think the old days are upon us once more. So. Doombringer.”

He looked at her. At Mrsha’s fur. The white Gnoll shivered. She tried to back away, but the older Gnoll shook his head.

“I do not blame you for what you are, cubling. You cannot help your curse. Nor will you escape, I think, no. But know what you are. Doom and death of tribes. Cursed one.”

Mrsha wanted to howl at him. She wanted to speak, to tell him no. But all she could do was hide. Hot shame and fear and too many emotions for words made her burrow her head in her side. She sensed the Gnoll staring at her for a long time. Then he turned his back on her. The other Gnolls stared at Mrsha too. They looked away. She was not of them.

Mrsha had known that. She knew that was why Lyonette didn’t let her play in the city. Because the other Gnolls told her she couldn’t. She’d been fine with that because Lyonette played with her and so did Moore and Erin and everyone else at the inn. But they weren’t here. And this was worse, to be alone with her people who weren’t her people.

The Raskghar were celebrating. They were in a frenzy. They drooled as they yipped and growled at each other, staring at the Gnolls. Like food. Like prey. The Gnolls stared back. Defiance flashed in their eyes. The Raskghar stood up, struck the cages, trying to scare the Gnolls. But they couldn’t.

It might have been a child or one of the younger females who opened her mouth and howled first. The high-pitched sound made the Raskghar growl in fury. The Cave Goblins looked up in alarm. The loud sound echoed through the room. At once, the other Gnolls did the same.

They began to howl. The Raskghar snarled and barked, but the Gnolls howled. Mrsha huddled in her cage, longing to join in. The howling filled the room, echoing, trying to bounce down the dungeon’s corridors, reach above. It was a howl of fury, of grief. And defiance!

We are here! Here! It was a call any Gnoll would know. A call for aid, of kinship. The Raskghar knew what the Gnolls were doing and hated the sound. But the defiant howling was stopped as soon as it had begun. Raskghar, enraged, tore open the cell doors, strode inside and began beating the Gnolls with their bare hands, feet, and stone clubs.

The howling stopped and cries of pain filled the air. Mrsha covered her eyes and ears with her paws and curled up. The beating lasted a long time. When the Raskghar finally strode away, Mrsha saw many of the Gnolls lying on the ground, bleeding, badly bruised. Some had broken bones. The Raskghar emerged from the cages, bloody, sniffing. One came towards her, baring his teeth for violence.

Mrsha backed against the back of her cage. The Raskghar bared his teeth at her, and then yelped as a hand pulled him back. Mrsha saw another Raskghar strike the first savagely and the Raskghar slunk away, growling. But he wasn’t the only one. The other Raskghar kept looking at her. Only Calruz’ order kept them from Mrsha.

Reluctantly, the other Raskghar moved away. The Gnolls stayed where they were, trying to tend to their injuries, beaten into silence. Mrsha sat up desperately. She wished she could do something! Anything! But the shackles were hard on her paws. She couldn’t move.

She didn’t have her wand. Lyonette was gone. Apista wasn’t here. She’d broken her legs. Mrsha had seen the Raskghar hit her out of the air. Erin had been gone. She might not even know where Mrsha was. Or she might be dead.

That was a terrible thought. Mrsha tried to take it back, but she couldn’t. She wiped her running nose on her arm. She tried very hard not to cry. If she did, the Raskghar might hit her too. She wouldn’t cry. Ceria was here. Ceria would rescue her. Or—or the other adventurers would. Halrac was strong. Moore was strong. They would find her. They would rescue her if she didn’t cry. Erin would come, or Jelaqua, or Pisces, or Ksmvr, or Ryoka, or Zel—

But Zel was dead. And Ryoka was gone. She’d gone far away. Mrsha curled up. She tried not to cry. But the hot tears that trickled from her eyes made her a liar. She hid her face and hoped this was all a dream. But when she slept and woke, she was still far below. And no one had saved her.

—-

Calruz. It was Calruz. It had always been Calruz. And in a way, it fit. The disaster had begun with the expedition into the crypt and it had never quite ended. Skinner had come, and Skinner had died. But the misery he had brought had festered. And now, half a year later, one of the very same adventurers who had entered the dungeon was behind the attacks on the city.

There was a horrible order to it. But Erin’s mind couldn’t focus on all of that. She was just thinking about Mrsha and Ceria. They were gone. The Raskghar had taken them. They were gone and Calruz was behind it all. She imagined the big Minotaur, remembered him showing her how to punch. That Calruz was responsible for this. Erin looked around at the adventurers conferring, the Cave Goblin tied to the chair, the grim look in Ilvriss’ eyes as he spoke to Zevara and Olesm and Embria.

All of this.

It was too much. Erin couldn’t take it in so she shut it out. She focused on the only thing she could think about right now. Mrsha. Ceria. They had to be found. Erin looked around at the crowd of worried people and saw a familiar face standing at the back. Lyonette stood, one hand wrapped up, white as a ghost, staring at nothing.

She was cradling Apista. The Ashfire Bee’s legs were wrapped up and they’d been healed with a bit of potion, but the [Princess] didn’t let the bee fly or perch on her shoulder. She had made a little sling and Apista lay in it, fluttering her wings now and then but not moving. Lyonette gently ran her fingers down the bee’s fuzzy body. She looked lost, pale. Her left hand was splinted. The healing potion had mended the bone, but it was still weak according to Pisces.

“Lyonette.”

The young woman didn’t look around the first time Erin called her name. Only when Erin touched her did she glance over. She looked lost. Erin hugged her with one arm.

“We’ll get her back. We’ll get them both back.”

“How?”

Erin had no reply. Lyonette stared at her and then turned. She was listening to a group of adventurers talk. The Gold-rank Captains were standing in a circle. Halrac, Jelaqua, Bevussa, Keldrass—they all looked worried. Some were still hurt. They’d had to fight their way out of the dungeon. There were a lot less adventurers in the inn. They’d all been attacked by monsters and Raskghar. Many were just resting from their injuries or exhaustion. Some were dead.

“We took a score of Silver-rank casualties and we lost a Gold-rank adventurer in the battle.”

“Rebat.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t lose a team. Those monsters were flooding the corridors! My team barely escaped—how did the Raskghar control them?”

“I saw them coming down with artifacts. They’re intelligent—maybe they had one that manipulates monsters?”

“There were hundreds of them. Hundreds! And they have artifacts of their own. How are we supposed to fight—”

“Wait them out? In four days they’ll lose their intelligence.”

“In four days every Gnoll they captured will be dead. I don’t understand that part. Why Gnolls? Vengeance? Food? Breeding—”

“Ancestors, no!”

“It’s a possibility. We have to hunt them down before then. But after what happened—”

“We can’t let Silver-ranks down there. Tekshia was right. This is a Gold-rank only. And we’ll struggle for every step. If there’s no safe time of day…”

“We’re going in. As soon as we replenish our potions and recharge our spells. No question of that.”

Jelaqua snapped. She was flushed, her dead-white skin slightly orange as her true body within manifested itself. Her claws trembled on her flail’s grip. An arrowhead had embedded itself in the Selphid’s body, right in the scales under her cheek, but she hadn’t pulled it out.

“So are we.”

Halrac folded his arms. His face was impassive, but Erin could feel emotion rolling off him, a hot torrent of fury and distress. The other Gold-rank Captains nodded, some dubiously.

“Of course we’re contracted to go in. But we need a plan of attack.”

“You do. We don’t. I’m going in with my team at first light tomorrow. I’d go now, but Moore’s out of juice.”

“My team as well.”

Bevussa nodded. Keldrass spat a bit of flame from his mouth and nodded.

“The Flamewardens won’t run. We’ve taken this dungeon too lightly and paid for it. Tomorrow we’re going in. Our team will go scorched ground. Your teams will need to steer clear.”

“We’ll be using radical strategy too. Keep away from our team.”

Halrac turned. He strode away from the Gold-rank Captains, towards Revi and Typhenous. The Stitch-Girl was tending to the old [Mage], who had several scrapes on one arm. Halrac spoke sharply.

“Revi, Typhenous. We’re heading to our inn. Tomorrow at first light we’ll go in. We’re using the Griffin-kill strategy we used at Screaming Falls.”

Revi and Typhenous looked up, surprised. Revi hesitated, then nodded.

“I’m going to change up for tomorrow. The Screaming Falls strategy? Halrac, you know that last time we used it, we were banned—”

“We’re fighting Raskghar. Not Griffins. Typhenous, can you cast the spells?”

The old [Mage] grimaced.

“Give me a night’s rest and I will be.”

“Good. Erin.”

Halrac turned and strode over to Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked up blankly.

“What?”

“We need your defense food. The soup or the salad. Tomorrow before dawn. Can you have it ready?”

Erin’s felt a bit of normalcy enter the world. She nodded once, and then again.

“I can.”

“Have it ready to go.”

Halrac whirled and began to stride away. Erin called out after him.

“Halrac!”

He came back. Erin grabbed his arm.

“Save Mrsha. Please? And Ceria. Tell me you can do it.”

She knew she shouldn’t have said that. But Halrac just grabbed Erin’s arm. He looked in her eyes and lied.

“We’ll find them.”

Then he was gone. Some of the other Gold-rank teams left just as fast. A good number of Silver-rank teams looked like Lyonette, uncertain if they were dreaming or having a nightmare. Erin breathed in and out heavily, and then looked around. Yvlon was standing at the center of a group of angry adventurers, trying to answer questions. Ksmvr was being ignored, and Pisces—

“Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] was walking towards the stairs. He turned as Erin called after him. Yvlon spotted him as well and shouted.

“Pisces! Come back here! We need to figure out what to do! Pisces!”

He turned his head and walked up the stairs. Yvlon fought free of the group of adventurers and raced after him.

“Pisces! Stop, damn it! We need to make a plan! We have to find Ceria—”

Pisces turned his head slowly. Yvlon stopped. The [Necromancer] had the blankest look on his face that Erin had ever seen. Anger, regret, sadness—none of it was reflected there. Yvlon let go of his arm. The [Necromancer] walked up the stairs and disappeared. Both Yvlon and Erin stared at his back.

“What was that? Is he insane? We need to prepare for the dungeon! We’ll go in with the others at dawn! Before that! Ksmvr, grab as many healing potions as you can—”

“Oh no you don’t. You’re banned from entering the dungeon.”

Yvlon spun. Falene, Dawil, and Ylawes were standing behind her. The half-Elf frowned at the stairs and then at Yvlon.

“What do you mean, I’m banned? Ceria is missing!”

Falene nodded.

“Which is precisely why you can’t be trusted in the dungeon. You’ll get yourself killed. Plus, your team’s understrength. You’ll stay right here.”

“Horseshit I will.”

The armored woman snapped. She put out her hand to brush Falene aside, but Ylawes caught it.

“Listen to Falene, sister.”

“Don’t try and stop me, Ylawes.”

“We’re doing this for your own good.”

Yvlon’s eyes narrowed. She made a fist at Falene.

“Try and stop me and I’ll tear your ears off. I’m going after Ceria.”

Dawil sighed. He grabbed his beard and tugged it unhappily.

“No you’re not, lass. And we’ll bind you in ropes and hex you until you can’t move if we have to.”

“You b—”

Erin saw a flash and covered her eyes. Ylawes grabbed Yvlon as she sagged. Dawil grunted as he lifted Yvlon’s legs.

“We’ll need to tie her down when she wakes up. I doubt she’ll want to listen to reason.”

Ylawes shook his head, looking troubled.

“She’ll understand once we explain it to her and she’s cooled down.”

The Dwarf looked up at the [Knight] and shook his head disapprovingly.

“You really don’t know your sister at all, do you? Miss Solstice, can you show us to her room?”

“Why are you stopping Yvlon? We need everyone going in after Mrsha and Ceria!”

Erin stared at the Silver Swords. Falene shook her head.

“Adventurers who rush in die. And this dungeon has shown us exactly how deadly it is. Our team will go in and support the other Gold-ranks. Naturally, we could do no less. But not Silver-rank teams.”

She sniffed. Erin stared at her, debated breaking Falene’s pretty half-Elven nose, and turned away before she did. She stormed past the adventurers, ignoring Ksmvr who was anxiously asking whether Yvlon was alright. Straight towards Olesm, Zevara, and Ilvriss. Zevara grimaced as Erin approached and turned.

“Miss Solstice.”

“How are you going to get Mrsha and Ceria back?”

The Watch Captain folded her arms.

“We’ll be doing the same thing we’ve done already. Watch the walls—in the day as well as night, now—and support the adventurers going in. We can’t do anything else. I won’t risk a single [Guardsman] in the dungeon. Even Relc would be outmatched if Gold-ranks are falling down there.”

“But Calruz has Ceria! And Mrsha!”

Zevara glowered.

“We know that. That Minotaur bastard already captured citizens of Liscor! Don’t you think we’ve been doing everything in our power already?”

“Yes, but—”

Erin realized what she was saying and bit her tongue. But this time it was Mrsha and Ceria. Zevara shook her head. She looked sympathetic, but impatient.

“I understand, Miss Solstice. I do. But I cannot help you. And I must get back to the walls in case the Raskghar hit us again.”

She hesitated.

“Olesm tells me that you were the one who raised the alarm to begin with. For what it’s worth, you saved dozens of my guardsmen and a lot of civilians. The Raskghar might have gained the wall without your warning.”

“Yeah. And I wasn’t in my inn.”

Erin looked around blankly. Zevara sighed and swished her tail before walking away. Erin stared at her door. The Raskghar had come right through that. It hadn’t been bolted or anything. Erin had been so sure they’d come at nightfall. She should have sent Mrsha into Octavia’s shop the instant her [Dangersense] had warned her. She should have raised the alarm and gotten Ceria out of there. She should have…

“We’ll find a way to get them out, Erin. The adventurers are working on a map and I’m contacting the Gnoll tribes for more information about the Raskghar. We’ll get them. The Raskghar can’t hide themselves forever. I’ll be working with the adventurers each day, and I’ll get you updates…”

Olesm was speaking to her, trying to reassure her. Erin stared at the unconvincing smile on his face until the [Strategist] had to stop. Ilvriss cleared his throat.

“Swifttail, why don’t you assist Watch Captain Zevara on the walls? And I’m sure Wing Commander Embria would appreciate an update. She has been on duty and I believe her input would be essential.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, yes, Wall Lord Ilvriss. Erin, I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Erin replied distantly. She watched Olesm back away and then looked at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord studied her.

“Can you do anything?”

He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“If you are asking whether I will enter the dungeon with my people, the answer is no. I will double the reward for returning the missing citizens of Liscor. I can easily afford to pay that out of my own coffers. But that is the limit of my ability to help.”

“You won’t fight?”

He shook his head. There was regret in his eyes. She thought it was genuine. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I am not an adventurer. Nor am I versed in detecting traps. As a [Lord], my abilities are split between diplomacy, economy, and warfare. I am…sorry. But we must trust in the adventurers.”

“Yeah.”

Erin looked at the bewildered Silver and Gold-rank teams. She shook her head.

“Yeah. No.”

She whirled, suddenly sure of what she had to do. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were speaking to each other, standing next to the unconscious Cave Goblin. Erin strode towards them.

“Solstice!”

Ilvriss snapped. Erin looked back at him. The Wall Lord eyed her much as Falene had looked at Yvlon.

“I’ve heard about your past exploits. Going into the dungeon would be a death sentence.”

The young woman looked silently back at Ilvriss.

“I know that. I’m not stupid.”

She walked on, making a beeline for the Goblins. Wall Lord Ilvriss stared at Erin’s back and frowned. He tapped a claw on the table and looked around.

“Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her leave the inn.”

—-