“Did you actually curse the lift?” Attar asked as we reached the fourth floor. He’d been mostly silent for the two hour descent, he must have been chewing on it.

  “Yes. No servant of the emperor may touch the lift lest they become poisoned by it.”

  “Dark magic,” I could hear the disapproval in his voice.

  I let my shame into my own, “It formed a deeper hold on me when I cast the spell. There’s no easy answer. I can feel the chaos building when I don’t cast.”

  “Stay true to yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  He put his hand on shoulder—technically the middle of my ribs, then my chest, then my shoulder, but he couldn’t see his hand or my shoulder, so I let it slide—“Stay true.”

  “I will.”

  I crouched then lay on the lift and peeked down the crack between the lift and the edge of the shaft. My light didn’t reach the end.

  “Thinking of heading down there?”

  I stood and dusted off my fouta, “If I was on my own, I would. But I need a path everyone can follow. Perhaps when I have a lift spell.”

  “Then where? Back up?”

  I pointed my spear at the lone bookshelf, “Marian had to have come from somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first bookcase to disguise an egress.”

  My ring proved my hunch immediately right. The bookshelf was concealing a passage. Figuring out the mechanism took longer, but after short experimentation it turned out the bookshelf pivoted around a central point, and was thus easily bypassed.

  Two white skinned Trogodytes were waiting on the other side.

  “Wolf Rider forfend! What happened to them?”

  The Trogodytes screeched back at him in return, though neither made any move to attack.

  I placed a calming hand on Attar’s shoulder, “They’re unharmed. Trogodytes have no eyes.”

  “Are they hostile?”

  “From what I understand, they are as hostile as man. Which is to say, each group is different. Marian came this way, however.”

  I took a slow step toward the door on the far side of the room. It was at least fifty feet away, meaning I wouldn’t get there through guile. The Trogodytes would let me pass, or they wouldn’t.

  The two men turned to track my process, but kept an easy stance. It wasn’t their eyes which followed me, but their ears. Their heads were turned perpendicular to my stride. The poor things looked exceptionally thin. Thinner than those I’d met before.

  Dread grew in me. A small nagging which was finally resolved when I reached the far door.

  “Please forgive the noise,” I said, in my most placating tone. Which, given how pleasant my voice sounded to even my own ear, was saying something.

  Sword Storm III

  The sword slid off the air before it got within 3 feet of the door and ground into the wall instead.

  The Trogodytes turned their heads morosely at the noise, but did not startle. The dread solidified.

  I turned quickly to Attar, “Don’t ent—”

  He was already in the room.

  “Can you leave the way you came?”

  Attar’s fingers splayed helplessly against the air behind him. He’d noticed the same time I had.

  The sun rose.

  Perfect timing.

  I dug out my wax and edged back around the room to one of the two walls without a door set in it. It wouldn’t lead back to the lift, but there was less chance the barrier would extend to another wall as that would be protecting a path few would take.

  Of course, we could be trapped in some sort of bubble, but I’d deal with that when I came to it. I could always teleport Attar and myself out, but it would slow forward progress to have to teleport every time, and I wanted to see what path Marian had taken. There was clearly a way back to the previous rooms the pixie had led us through, and clearly a way to breach the barricade of the Trogodyte room as Marian had already done both.

  Tunnel, Tunnel II, Tunnel III. I stayed well clear as a two foot by three foot hole was slowly bored through the wall in front of me. For the first time since we’d encountered one another, the Trogodytes postures straightened, and their ears turned to the clattering of my spell.

  Tunnel IIII: Excavates 67.5ft3 over the course of an hour.

  The last few minutes of the spell were used to widen the hole slightly, so it would be a less claustrophobic path through the wall, but it was still going to be a tight squeeze, especially for me.

  Moans erupted from the hole when it was finished, but nothing came of it. My light revealed several unfortunate souls chained to the wall at the far end of the room, but there was nothing we could do for them until we were through.

  Attar went first, and then I passed his bag and mine through too him, as well as my fouta. I wouldn’t be able to hold onto it as I shimmied through.

  The walls tugged at both my shoulders, and I had to wriggle more than pull myself. For a brief moment I was overcome with panic as my entire body entered the tunnel without either end being in the open air.

  Was I going to die here? Was this my end? I couldn’t bend my legs, my elbows were locked forwa—

  I took a breath and continued forward. I could always teleport if I needed too. I didn’t need to. I was fine.

  I was fine. I was fine. I was—

  I was out. I’d always hated tight spaces. Being several inches taller in all directions hadn’t eased that fear.

  The prisoners struggling increased when I finally fully pulled myself into the room. No words came out, only haunting, endless pain.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  An invisible hand caught my hair, then lowered to my shoulder, “They’re already dead. It’s the same story as the others.”

  I was tired.

  The warlocks had envisioned more horrors than a single person could stand. I’d only explored a fraction of the first four levels of their dungeon. How much malice could a single structure, no matter how large, contain? It was no wonder I felt the weight of dark magic grow as we descended.

  Fireball III

  “Then we shall honour them as the others.”

  ***

  My sentiment cost me my fireball spell. The runes vanished from my spellbook after it was cast, but the fireball remained.

  The bodies were drier than the previous set, meaning they burned quickly. The single spell would be enough. I was closing down on the seventh body—the final one—when the warlock’s dark thoughts came unbidden to my ear.

  This is a perversion.

  It was.

  Magic was never meant to be used for this purpose.

  It wasn’t.

  Fear not the fire for its flame. It will warm your family as easily as it will burn. Stop those who would burn the world alive, and keep the hearth of your children lit.

  Animating shield

  The spell was an offering. No coercion led me to accept it in my mind. My mind already full with dark nattering. Yet a shield was not a spell I could deny. I accepted dark magic’s bargain. I still didn’t trust it, but my strength was flagging as fast as it gained, and the magicians had proven I needed every advantage I could take, if not for my sake, then for that of my friends.

  The ashes of the prisoners drifted about their belongings, which had been scattered carelessly by time about the room. I let the treasures be. If the time came when I’d earned the privilege to take them, I’d know. I needed to leave.

  The Trogodytes had been attracted to the sounds of our ritual, and had finally crawled into the room after us with the cessation of the final prisoner’s cries.

  One of them hissed something at me in its tongue, the phrase more gentle than I was used to from the pale creatures.

  “Go in peace,” I replied.

  I doubted their ability to understand my words, but the two men strode boldly past us to the far wall where another Magi statue guarded the centre of the wall.

  A series of presses along his staff caused the statue to move, revealing a door the Trogodytes slipped through and vanished. (Figuratively. This was the fourth floor after all.)

  The secret door led to a hallway leading both left and right. To the right was a pit trap and a dead end which I detected through my ring.

  To the left was a...

  ...small cabin in the woods.

  “That’s Myrra’s house isn’t it?” said Attar.

  He appeared to be right. We’d only seen the inside before, but the woods were familiar, and who else would own a cabin within them?

  Previously the dungeon doors had led directly into the house, but if we could see the outside, perhaps we could risk circle around it? The trees might even hide us. The Trogodytes were nowhere in sight and there was no light in the window. Perhaps they’d slipped past?

  I extinguished my own internal light.

  “We’ll skirt around the edge of the forest, to the doorway over there,” I pointed to our right, which did nothing, “to our right,” I amended, “I think we can sneak past.”

  Attar made no sounds of protest. I scooted over to him and grabbed his hand through the guidance of my ring, “Stick next to me.”

  We began circling counter-clockwise around the hut. Widdershins felt appropriate for a witch’s domain. The journey went without incident and we found ourselves in the room with the black emerald sphere once more.

  We were now back on track, but the journey was long and confused whether we wished to go upstairs or down.

  I turned back into Myrra’s domain, which was still the forest instead of a direct entrance into her house, the doorway set in the wall of the Bleak Fort itself had vanished. Several more minutes of tense creeping brought us to the final portal leading out of the forest. This one was barricade with a large pile of skulls.

  Stepping around the skulls revealed the lair of the ogres Attar had bound to his service, and the body of the tuar I’d slain to steal his sack of swans.

  We’d been next to the stair all along. I could even see the hallway leading from the first set of ogres through the wall, the blood still pooled there on the floor.

  We could go back through the tattoo parlour and up the three flights of stairs back to our companions, or I could spend my new Tunnel IIII spell to find a path to return to the lift. Ideally, I’d find a path which connected the stairs and the lift without going to Myrra’s domain.

  “Back to the lift, I think,” I said, “but first through to the room with the strange tattoo devices.”

  “Is that what those were?”

  “Hopefully I’ll be able to tell.”

  The strange shifting blocks were trivial to understand with the fragments gathered from Myrra’s soul. The block shifted, especially under conscious action, to the form of any slain under the user’s power. Then the user could strike the plate against themselves, granting a tattoo imbued with the strength of the slain, guided through the eyes of the user.

  I might not be able to grant myself immunity to fire if I tattooed the mage I’d slain onto my arm, but I would gain some of her control of fire.

  I explained the device to Attar, then we both tried to remember those we’d slain and what strengths, if any, we could draw from them.

  The whole thing was somewhat barbaric, especially when considering human foes, and I’d never been one for tattoos personally, as I felt the covered more than they revealed, but I’d take whatever advantage I could get, provided it didn’t cost my soul.

  Attar dropped his plate with a cry after several moments of experimentation.

  The block held a woman’s face. I didn’t recognize the face, but I could guess I’d already seen her grave.

  “I can’t bring those my ghosts have killed to the surface,” Attar said bitterly, “Only the woman whose cell I shared. Hucel.”

  My own summons such as my sword and fireball had no such restrictions, “Don’t bemoan the fact your hands are not stained in blood. Her death was one of mercy. Even if you take her tattoo, remember that your friend’s strength goes with you, which is all a friend could ever want.”

  “I will need time to think.”

  As would I. It was not a decision to be made idly. I doubted the magic which bound the soul’s strength could sustain more than a single tattoo at a time.

  I would take the ruby beetle’s resilience and strength in a heartbeat if I could, but I don’t think I ever actually killed one.

  The options I could recall were the dark elves for their agility. They’d performed the impossible avoiding my attacks, but they’d still fallen to my spells.

  I could tattoo one of the warlocks onto myself, but I already had access to dark magic, and the slope was tilted enough. Besides, I had power, what I needed was a way to survive.

  My own power also ruled out the Bleak tuar, the magicians, the Mushroom King, and others.

  If I wanted resilience, which was my main vulnerability, and I’d failed to kill the ruby beetles, that left the ogre mage or the toad dragon.

  With the right spells, I could easily beat the toad dragon. Even the ruby beetles, given enough days would surely reach their limits.

  I wasn’t sure if I could ever safely fight the ogre mage. Even if I’d had my spell book and staff from before I’d been captured.

  The block shifted and changed. A hideous scowling face, like those found on the pumpkins during the Gathering of the Living and the Dead to scare away demons.

  The block would grant me a minor power. I could have the ogre’s healing, it’s strength, it’s resilience, or, I could take its power. The thing which allowed it to work its magics in the first place, but then I’d inherent the costs. From my two battles with the ogre, the versatility was unmatched, and the price, which with Myrra’s memories I recognized as it burning its own fat reserves, was small.

  However, I was already versatile. Given enough time, I could already cast the spells needed to win a fight or keep myself alive. I could already heal. What I needed was to avoid injury. My choice was utility which might serve me in countless scenarios, vs defences which would serve me when I was taken by surprise.

  It pained me to relinquish infinite strength and healing, but I could always cast stronger spells, and as my second fight with the ogre had shown, healing was only useful if I survived.

  I stamped the plate into my right heel. No reason to reveal my strengths to those who could read them.

  Attar was already standing, “I’ll let her lie in peace. Maybe if we pass this way again.”

  Having killed something else, went without saying.