The Aptly Named Book of Lost Wisdom Volume 2

Even after spending some time in a dungeon, I don’t really understand them. They make no sense. It almost seems as though the person who created them wants to keep you out and yet wants you to get through them at the same time. If you really want to hide treasure, there has to be cheaper, more effective ways to do so.

The Book of Lost Wisdom, Kalutu

Seventeenth of Learning 1142

Chari stared at the door in front of her. It had been behind her. She looked over her shoulder and the dungeon was as it had always been. Somehow, she had gotten turned around.

She was in a dungeon—a dungeon! For many adventurers, it represented the ultimate challenge. And though she was trying to find her husband, it didn’t take away from the fact that she was on a holy quest for the goddess in her first dungeon. It felt unreal. She was only fourth level, and here she was with a team of nothing but familiars. If she lived to tell this tale, no one would believe it. Assuming there would be a tale, as she had yet to get past the corridor she was standing in.

She stood beside the entrance, looking down the same corridor she had seen when she’d first opened the door. The walls were made of various stones of slightly different shades, held together with mortar. In places she could see moisture on the surface of the rocks, as if the dungeon was sweating. She wasn’t sure where the moaning was coming from, but it seemed pervasive in this place, as if the dungeon itself was alive. Further along, the corridor split, which was irrelevant if they couldn’t find a way to reach that juncture.

She had tried going further into the dungeon multiple times, and each time ended up here, facing the entrance.

“It has to be a confusion spell of some kind,” said Sam, finally. “They’re not that uncommon in dungeons.”

“It didn’t seem to bother Bruce,” Kalutu pointed out. “There’s not much point of him risking himself scouting, if he’s the only one that can get through.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “You know, Bruce was walking on the wall when he passed us. Perhaps this confusion spell is cast on the floor.”

“You think we can jump over it?” asked Chari.

“It’s something to try anyway,” said Sam.

Chari walked forward slowly, until she saw the door in front of her again. She could see why it was called confusion. She was completely disoriented. She drew a dagger from her belt and scratched a mark on the wall in the exact place it was safe to stop. Then she walked back and walked up to that point again.

“Okay, so in theory, if I jump the spell, it should allow me to continue forward?”

“In theory,” said Sam.

“A moment, please,” said Kalutu. He removed a rock from the pouch on his belt and slid it hard across the floor. Apparently, confusion didn’t work on inanimate objects, because it kept going past Chari’s mark. They watched until it disappeared a short distance past where the confusion spell started.

“Kalutu…” said Chari.

“Yes?”

“Why do you have a rock in your pouch?”

“It’s my lucky rock.”

“Your lucky rock? You do realized we just watched it vanish.”

“It’s okay, I have a backup.”

Sam couldn’t let that go. “You have a backup lucky rock?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. You can’t deny that it has paid off.”

Chari shook her head. “Would someone like to tell me what happened to Kalutu’s…lucky rock?”

“I suspect it’s either teleported or fell into a pit trap,” said Sam.

“It would be useful to know which.”

Kalutu nodded. “The question is, how can we find out?”

Sam had an answer. He pulled a leather cord out of his pouch and called Wingman over. Then he made a small loop and tied it so that when pulled it would tighten. Sam held up his arm, and Wingman hopped onto it, picking his leg up to make it easier for Sam to place the loop around it.

“Wingman will fly across the mark and try to land on the other side. Then he can start walking. If it’s a pit, he can only go as far as the end of the tether. If it’s a teleport, the tether will be severed, and he’ll try to return to us. If he can’t, we’ll have to decide if we should risk following or not.”

“Absolutely not!” said Kalutu. “We can’t just send Wingman off like that. He’d be alone.”

“But he’d be able to track you, and make his way back to us, and he has the advantage of being able to fly.”

Chari nodded. “Sam’s right, Kalutu. We’re stuck at the dungeon entrance for ten minutes already. We’re going to have to take chances at some point.

“I agree, except we’re not the one taking a chance.”

I don’t mind. It feels good to be useful. It has been a long time.

Kalutu started to speak and sighed instead. “Very well. Proceed.”

Sam tethered Wingman and sent him flying down the corridor, past the mark Chari had made. When he descended shortly after, he landed on the floor. Nothing happened. One step. Another. Everyone was holding their breath, except perhaps for Obby who didn’t breathe, at least not in the sense the rest of them did. Chari wondered about that, but not for too long. She was still getting used to having a giant cube as part of her team.

Another step. Another. And then he was gone. Vanished. The tether, however, wasn’t severed. Instead, it vanished into the floor. Wingman flew back out of the pit and down the corridor back to the rest of them.

The pit is not wide. If I mark where it starts, most of us can jump it.

“Bear too?” asked Kalutu.

Wingman cocked his head to the side. It took Chari a moment to realize he was looking at Bear.

I can make it.

As can I.

The last voice was Obby, clearly anticipating the next question.

“If Wingman marks where the pit starts, we should all be able to jump it,” said Kalutu, though he didn’t sound that confident to Chari.

“Are you certain?”

“No, but my familiars are, and I trust them.”

Chari scowled at that but then nodded. “Wingman, get into position and let’s test this theory. I’ll go first.”

“You are the leader of this expedition,” said Kalutu. “Therefore you are not expendable. Let me go instead.”

There was a chorus of psychic protest, which Kalutu ignored. However, Chari wasn’t having it.

“No, Kalutu. A leader would never ask anyone to do something they wouldn’t do themselves. And since I have to get past anyway, I’m going to go first.”

Kalutu started to answer, thought better of it, and nodded curtly. Wingman took off and landed near where the pit started. He inched forward until he fell in and flew back out, landing on the rim of the pit.

“You’ll have to jump twice,” said Kalutu. “Once at your mark and the next where Wingman is, but you should be safe to rest in the middle.”

Chari nodded. She spent a few minutes stretching before making the attempt. It seemed prudent. Then, without warning, she took off down the corridor, jumped over the confusion spell and without pausing, jumped a second time. With the running jump, she easily cleared the pit. She drew her sword and tapped with it back the way she had come until she found the edge. Wingman had been right. It wasn’t far across.

“There, we should all make it past.”

They went in sequence. Some of their number like Mutt made the jump easily. Watching Bear’s attempt was an exercise in self control. It seemed like an impossible task for a creature that large and heavy. Chari hadn’t even realized that bears could jump. Admittedly, Wingman had to scurry out of his way, but the platform was just big enough for Bear to rest between the confusion spell and the pit. Obviously Gruff, the goat, had no trouble with the crossing. Drake, the lizard, ran up the wall and across with no issue at all.

All that was left on the far side now was Sam, Flapper the beaver and Obby. Sam picked up Flapper. Then he ran to the mark Chari had made and leapt across both obstacles as if they weren’t there.

“That’s kind of impressive,” said Chari.

“I’m a squirrel. Jumping is sort of my thing.”

“I suppose that’s true. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Now Obby was alone. They all watched while the ooze expanded until his mass touched both walls of the corridor. Then, using a pseudopod on each side, he pulled himself first about a foot off the floor, then forward, first one side then the other, along the walls. It passed over both the mark and the pit with no issues. With all of them safely on the other side, Chari was able to relax. Only then did she realize how tense she had been.

“This is going to go very slowly if we have to keep stopping for things like that,” said Chari.

Before anyone could reply, a shape came at them from further down the corridor. Chari and Kalutu both drew their swords, but it was only Bruce returning.

I don’t think obstacles like that are our biggest concern. This place is crawling with trodara.

“Trodara?” asked Kalutu.

Chari’s eyes blazed in the lantern light. “The weakest of the dara class enemies. We can take them.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate them,” said Sam. “Many adventurers do, even some higher level ones, because one or two trodara aren’t really an issue. When they come in numbers, no one is safe. How many are there?”

Too many to count.

“Bruce says there are too many to count.”

“Not quite the answer I was hoping for,” said Chari.

“I still don’t know what they are,” said Kalutu.

“They’re black furry creatures with fangs and talons. They’re not particularly strong, brave or fast. They’ll scavenge if they can get away with it, rather than hunt and kill,” said Chari

“They don’t sound that bad,” said Kalutu. “How do you know so much about them?”

“They’re pretty common, and they’re in many stories. I even saw a captive trodara once at a fair. It didn’t look very dangerous.”

Sam shook his head. “As I said, one or two aren’t. But they’re fast enough, and they’re vicious when cornered. Large packs of them can take down even a higher level adventurer through sheer numbers. Whatever you do, please, please don’t underestimate them.”

“I’ll treat them the way I treat any threat,” said Chari.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Kalutu. “I know something of Prince Eric’s skills, and he was able to keep a percentage of the enemy away from you, allowing you to kill them in smaller numbers.”

“Eric wasn’t with me when I fought the zombies, and I did quite okay.”

“In a test designed by the gods, who weren’t trying to kill you. Remember Princess Chari, this isn’t the Other Realm, and neither Prince Dahr nor Prince Eric are here to back you up.”

“That’s true,” said Chari, “but I have you. I’ve seen how hard you work in the practice yard. You may not have seen combat yet, but I have faith in you.”

Kalutu paused for a long moment, apparently not used to that kind of praise. “I will do my utmost to live up to your expectations.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Sam, “if we don’t just charge in. Communication is the key here. As long as we’re all on the same page, we can do this.”

There was nothing else to say. They all stood for a moment longer, before Chari looked at Bruce.

“Which way?”

Bruce sent the mental equivalent of a shrug to Kalutu, who relayed the response.

“Okay, which way will bring us closer to Eric and Dahr?”

Kalutu pointed right.

“Everyone be ready. Sheba is watching us.”

Sam looked around. “Do you think so?”

“I know it.”

Sam looked around again, as if unnerved by the idea he was being watched by a goddess, then he shrugged. “You’ve seen her, right?”

“I have.”

“Is she hot?”

Chari shook her head, laughed and started down the right corridor. Behind, she heard Kalutu starting to admonish the familiar about the dangers of offending the goddess, but she didn’t think Sheba cared. From what she’d seen so far, she suspected the goddess of honor had quite the sense of humor.

*

Striker let herself run, exhilarated by the freedom of not having to hold back. Stalker beside her, they raced through the hills. Out of sight of the Misfits of Karmenon, she was free to let go. After all the months of hiding her true abilities, it felt amazing.

She was moving toward The Allied Kingdoms of Karmenon, not certain why she had run in that direction. They would be following, she knew, probably tracking Stalker. All to the good. Let them catch up with her now. Even with horses, they’d have a hard time.

She had run through the afternoon and into early evening, not bothering to stop for meals or even nightfall. She could see quite well in the dark, and didn’t need to eat or drink. In fact, alcohol didn’t affect her, though she liked to pretend it did. Being reborn had many benefits, but not being able to get drunk was, emphatically, not one of them.

As she ran, fragments of her life flashed through Striker’s mind, uninvited. Puzzle pieces that could never form a cohesive picture, because something was wrong with her—had always been wrong.

When she’d been young, she had never been able to sit still or behave. She could never be what her parents had wanted her to be. Her father had been strict, her mother complacent. Her two older sisters never had a childhood. They had been raised, as Striker herself had been, to be perfect little adults. But Striker had never learned the trick of that, and it had led to punishments, beatings, even lectures at the local temple.

Like mostly everyone in the small town she grew up in, her family worshipped Se Karn, the god of death. Who else could you be expected to worship when you lived in Death’s Doorstep? More than once, she found herself being lectured by stern-faced priests or priestesses, trying to explain the price she’d eventually pay for misbehaving. Nothing worked. Which didn’t stop any of it from happening. Punishment had become a normal part of Striker’s existence.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to comply, she just hadn’t known how to go about it. Nothing made sense to her, as if she had been born broken. That was when she started hanging around with the outcasts, the people who didn’t fit into life in a small town. Townsfolk had many names for such people; hooligans, vagabonds, vagrants. Striker called them friends. The one thing they all seemed to have in common was a healthy disrespect for authority.

Her new compatriots had dreams and plans. A few wanted to be adventurers. To become rich and famous. They would be chosen by gods and given levels. They would overcome the day-to-day boredom of small-town existence and do something with their lives.

She wondered where they were now. Probably dead. If the drink hadn’t killed them, the rough lifestyle probably would have. They’d often had nowhere to sleep and little to eat. Many had ended up turning to lives of crime, but not Striker. She’d still had dreams of being an adventurer. Of protecting people. Of treating them right. From the beginning she’d been undisciplined, but her heart had always been in the right place.

Shortly after her sixteenth birthday, Striker had been touched by Sheba. She hadn’t expected it. No one ever really did, even though they all said it would happen to them. Some of her “friends” grew jealous and froze her out. Others tried to befriend her just because they knew Sheba liked her. It changed the way she thought about people. No one really cared about her. They only cared about what they could get from her.

She moved through friends like a tourist, attaching herself to one group after another, never staying long enough to form any real attachments. Though she learned something from each group, Striker never stayed long enough to learn to trust any of them—the lesson she needed to learn the most.

What she did learn helped her advance as a hunter. She learned how to use a sling. How to track a quarry. How to set traps and snares. It always amazed her how many people didn’t live in towns and cities. People who fell through the cracks and didn’t belong anywhere. People who didn’t mind living rough. They formed tiny communities, with their own politics and rules. Striker didn’t care for any of that, so she moved on frequently.

The dream to become an adventurer never left her. Knowing Sheba was watching, Striker strove to do the right thing but sometimes screwed everything up, just like when she had lived at home. She’d grow furious with herself for each setback, but she never gave up trying to be better. She pushed herself. But those inevitable failures only confirmed what she’d known all along. She had been born broken.

Striker did what she had to do to survive, but she learned and grew and leveled. And when she was Level 3, she met a group of vigilantes passing through. All low level like her. None of them belonged to the guild, but they spend some time hunting down bounties; local outlaws in small towns that the guild had no presence in, or creatures that posed a danger to people who had no levels. When there was no work, there was alcohol. It was a win-win situation.

Striker didn’t remember any of their names, and could barely recall how any of them looked, but she was thankful to that group, because they had given her her first bow. It was a crappy bow that one of them had been using when he’d picked up an upgrade. It had been Striker’s prized possession. She’d practiced with it endlessly, even learning how to make her own arrows, so she could practice more.

Striker was a natural with the bow, displaying skill far beyond her level. But politics and a leadership power struggle in that group pushed her out, as she had refused to choose sides. Continually frustrated by the stupidity of people, she tried group after group, before finally finding a team of people who all wanted to be adventurers. They had dreams. They had talent. And, like her previous team, they had a drinking problem.

They were very drunk the day they traveled further afield than they’d previously dared, to a place where the monsters were larger and fiercer. A place where a large female kreve happened to be out hunting. A day Striker would never forget, for it was the day she had died. Ironically, she could never forget that day and yet remembered so little about it, except the feeling of the kreve’s great jaws closing around her forearm. The sounds of her bones breaking. The sight of her blood splattering. The sheer terror of being at the mercy of a beast against which she had no defense.

She fought like a small child trying to avoid being dragged to church by her mother. She had few clear recollections about her actual death or the moments that led up to it. She just remembered that it hurt worse than anything she’d ever experienced. People said there was a certain peace in death, but all she remembered was the violence.