The Heroes’ Guild. How could he have forgotten about them? Asshole mercenaries who did whatever the guild paid them to do and charged a premium for it with the people they supposedly “liberated,” too. A fee for saving someone’s life, when they were already getting paid. Fucking pretentious dicks, the lot of them.
Never mind that he’d desperately wanted to be one of them when he was a boy. He’d seen them for the exploitative fakes they really were.
“What do you think this is, then?”
“I’m… not entirely sure,” she admitted, her ears drooping. “Should we bring the other goblins up?”
“No. If we need to lead them away from here, best to do it in a way that doesn’t cause any casualties.”
“…You really aren’t like any dungeon lord I’ve ever met.”
This time Keaton recognized it for the compliment it was. His lips twitched into a grin. “Thanks.”
As they moved through the twisting tunnels, the horn just kept blaring, the raucous sound blasting off of the walls and pounding against his eardrums. The closer they drew to the surface, the more he heard this strange, roaring sound that accompanied the horn blast.
Then, as they reached the mouth, a woman’s voice boomed from out in the swamp.
“Face me, dungeon lord! Or are you so craven as to hide behind your walls?”
“Who is that?” Keaton asked, not surprised by Adriana’s shrug.
He had something resembling an answer once he stepped out into the morning light. The sun blared down through the treetops, giving the murky swamp a glowing cast of green. In the center of the muck, fanned out around one of the few dry “islands,” several women stood.
No, not women. Goddesses. Tall — six feet, at least — toned, and each sporting massive, curling horns in black, bronze, gold, and pure white.
They were arranged equally, almost in military formation, each of them holding a bronze kite shield and a polearm. Some carried spears, some carried halberds, but they all looked especially well made and ready to run someone through.
“I’m the lord of this dungeon. What’s all this about?” Keaton called.
The blaring stopped, and he heard a laugh coming from the center of the circle. Stepping out into the marsh, he saw a woman who rose above the others. A good half foot taller than them, her form athletic and obviously built for combat. As he moved closer, he saw that in addition to large bronze-plated horns that curled down close to long, soft, folded ears, her body was also painted in a soft, fawn brown and a lighter tan that ran down the middle of her torso, disappearing into leathers that crisscrossed over the woman’s pelvis and thighs, stopping just above the knee to reveal powerful legs that flared into hooves.
To Keaton’s blatant surprise, he hadn’t immediately noticed the fact that she barely had anything up top. Her breasts were painted in the same way, that pale color that darkened to brown, with a hint of a darker shade marking her large areolas. Only her nipples were covered, a harness crossing over her breasts with a bronze ring at the center.
Like the others — all women, he noted — she held onto a halberd that was almost as tall as she was. Unlike them, she wasn’t using a shield.
“Are you certain you are Dungeon Lord Havron? You have far less meat on your bones than I would have guessed.”
Her voice, while booming, was pleasant. There was an earthy tone to it, a deep, gravely undercurrent that Keaton could only describe as sensual.
“Havron is dead,” he yelled back, stepping into the swamp and immediately regretting it. His feet sank into the muck. “I killed him.”
“You?”
She snorted derisively, Keaton’s pride flaring up in response. “Did you just come here to insult me, or do you actually want something?”
“Well, you have a mouth on you, dungeon lord, I’ll give you that.” She strode toward the edge of the circle and the women in her way parted immediately.
Steeling his nerves, Keaton trudged through the swamp to meet her. The second he set foot on non-squishy ground, though, Scout leapt between him and the horned woman. He brandished his bone club, his jaws snapping.
“You want hurt Lord Keaton, you hurt me first!” he snarled.
Keaton dragged a palm over his face. “Stand down, Scout.”
The woman grinned down at him, her eyes hooded, long lashes sweeping down to her cheeks. “What a loyal pet you’ve got there. Doesn’t speak well for your fighting prowess if this is all you can muster for defense, though.” Her gaze moved past Keaton to where he was sure Adriana stood. “Unless you’ve got some power you’re not showing yet, hm, pretty?”
“Leave her be,” he said, finding a tone that was deeper and more threatening than any he’d used before.
Her gaze returned to him, a smile curving her lips. “Protective, are you? We’ll see if you can back up the talk.”
Despite the fact that he was surrounded, outnumbered, and the obvious target of at least twenty polearms, Keaton was growing impatient with this.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“My name is Cassia, and I have come here on behalf of my tribe to challenge you to an honorable duel.”
Keaton just blinked up at her, realizing for the first time that it wasn’t body paint coloring her skin like that. She was covered in short hairs that looked so soft to the touch. Part of him was tempted to reach out and stroke that flat stomach of hers. Another part of him wanted to be crushed between her thighs. And still another part wanted to bend this giant of a woman over and—
Gods, he was terrible.
“But… why? Wait, you were looking for Lord Havron. Did he piss you off or something?”
Adriana cleared her throat, appearing at his side. “Um, my lord. It is customary for Emvola tribes to challenge new dungeon lords to—”
“Decide if they’re worth our time. You’re right, pretty,” Cassia purred before returning her attention to Keaton. “I am here to face the lord of this dungeon, whoever they may be.”
“If you just want to test yourself, then… this isn’t a duel to the death?”
She scoffed at him, looking indignant. Adriana groaned softly.
Okay, I guess that was the wrong thing to say…
“I don’t know where you’re from, new lord, but an honorable duel is just that. A duel. With honor. Wounds are superficial and will be healed by my herbalist. We will consider the duel well fought when third blood is reached and declare whoever reached it the winner.”
“Why not first blood?” Keaton asked, wanting to kick himself.
“Because I will draw first blood in a matter of seconds, and I’d like this to last a bit longer than that.”
He swore that look she gave him was sexual in nature; the way her gaze slowly raked down his body. When she stopped at his bulge, he was sure of it.
Keaton gulped, and tried to think his body out of an obvious reaction. “Alright, I’ll duel you to third blood. But things seem a little one-sided here. I’ve only just started, and this is the only weapon I have.”
He pulled out the dagger, holding it out so she could see.
“Not a problem. My tribe will provide you with proper attire and a weapon fit for our duel.” She flashed him a grin. “Come, into the circle. Your minions can join us, as well.”
“Adriana isn’t—”
The words were practically knocked out of him as Cassia smacked him right between the shoulder blades, ushering him toward the circle. She was almost a foot taller than him and in far, far better shape. Strong, too, considering he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. He had no idea how he was going to hold his own in this duel let alone win, but… what was even the point?