“Raccoons,” said Hannah, nodding sagely. “Or maybe another animal of the same size.”
“I’m sorry?” asked Verity.
“It’s what they said, in the seminary, ay?” asked Hannah. “The monsters you find in the dungeons are, oh, like bein’ attacked by two or three raccoons at once. Frightenin’, and a bit of a risk of being scratched or bit, but no one would expect you to die, ay?”
“Raccoons that I will be protecting you all from,” said Alfric.
“Raccoons are gentle creatures,” said Isra.
“Well, obviously,” nodded Hannah. “Another animal then? One that would attack?”
“No animal attacks humans,” said Isra. “Only if they need to defend their young.”
“A rabid raccoon then?” asked Hannah.
“Perhaps,” said Isra.
“I expect scratches and bites,” said Alfric. “I expect a few minor injuries that Hannah will be able to heal, and if it’s anything worse, then we can get other healing. I don’t expect anyone else to be hurt, not seriously.”
“I’ve heard, at second elevation, you can almost do a minor dungeon yourself,” said Hannah. “But you wouldn’t want to, naturally, since there’s such a risk of it goin’ bad.”
“Not even that bad,” said Alfric. “When we say ‘bad’, we mean leaving the dungeon with a mild injury that you’d need a cleric for.” He gave Hannah a pleading look, and she kept whatever clarification or elaboration she had in store to herself.
“I suppose,” said Verity. “I’m not sure all that has done much for my nerves.” She let out a breath. “Three raccoons.”
Alfric nodded. He had never liked the raccoon comparison, which he’d heard before, but it was helpful, if wrong. “Ah, this is the turn, we’re almost there.”
Chapter 5 — This One Is Actually About a Dungeon
They came to a clearing in the aspens, one with a fair bit of overgrowth, except where a dirt path led to the center. A built-up earthen mound filled the center, and as they went single-file down the path, they eventually saw the large wooden door set into the mound at an angle. It was in poor condition. The angle was the most obvious flaw, as portals were supposed to be completely upright. The door had been painted at one point, but the paint was faded and chipped. The stone that surrounded the door was stained and covered in moss, but the runes inscribed there pulsed with light as soon as they came close. If the runes didn’t pulse, there was a problem, but a dungeon entrance needed to be quite far gone for that to happen.
“The Adventurers’ League is supposed to keep these in good repair,” said Alfric, frowning at the door. The lock that kept the door shut seemed like it was in better shape than the door itself, with a small bit of protection from the elements, and Alfric knelt down to look it over, drawing a key from his pocket.
“What’s that?” asked Mizuki, peering over his shoulder.
“You can’t get in the dungeon without a key,” said Alfric. “This is the basic one; they give them out readily. There are probably a few thousand copies floating around in the world.” He inserted the key into the lock and twisted it. It was a simple mechanism, but it gave him a bit of trouble, perhaps because it was so crudely made. After some jiggling, the lock came undone, and Alfric pulled it off, then opened the door. The runes on the stonework gave another pulse of light.
“And we just go in?” asked Verity.
“Yes,” said Alfric. “Once we pass through the stone arch, that’s it, we’re in. If you leave the dungeon once you’ve entered, you can’t go back in. This is the one and only time any of us will ever do the Pucklechurch dungeon.” Again, he braced himself for some pedantry that didn’t come.
The dungeon mouth extended down into the built-up earth, and even from where they were standing, they could see that it was warping space, the tunnel an impossibility. The dungeon as it stood before them was its own splinter reality, one conjured by the portal just for them. Alfric stood for a moment, soaking in the gravity of the situation, the immutability of the dungeon visit.
“We can go in now, ay?” asked Hannah. “Or are we waiting for somethin’?”
“No, we can go now,” said Alfric. “Just… mentally preparing.” He had prepared for years to get to this moment. It would be a cakewalk. Still, some part of him worried. Variance was the harshest beast to be found in the dungeons.
“Should I be preparing?” asked Mizuki. “Because I thought my job was just to blast whatever we find in there.”
“It is,” said Alfric with a nod. “Verity, be ready to play your song; Hannah, be ready to heal any injuries I take; and Isra, take your shots if you see them.”
Mizuki cracked her knuckles and stretched, shaking herself out, while the others made their own preparations. Verity unstrapped her lute and tuned it. Isra undid the straps of her backpack, then strung her bow. The pack would be brought in with them, left just inside the dungeon entrance, so they could return to it if need be, as would anything else that wasn’t essential to the particulars of making their way through the dungeon.
When everyone was ready, Alfric went first, passing through the doorway.
Their two lanterns provided the light, one each around Verity’s and Alfric’s necks. The tunnel was rounded, its walls curved, packed earth with nothing supporting it. If it had been a tunnel they’d found in the wilderness, rather than a dungeon, Alfric might have feared collapse, but such things didn’t happen in dungeons, as structurally unsound as they might appear.
After a hundred feet, the tunnel ended in a small room, with thick wooden beams for supports, a large door that was tightly closed, and overhead, what looked like floorboards.
“We can leave our things here,” said Alfric, speaking in a whisper. “Packs, gear, things that we won’t want in the middle of a fight.” Isra had the largest pack, and she set it down gently on the floor, barely making a noise. Alfric was nervous and saying things that didn’t really need to be said. It was a bad habit.
“When do I start to play?” asked Verity, also whispering.
Alfric drew his sword, which produced arcs of electricity. He faced the door, got a grip on his shield, and steeled himself. “Now,” he said.
Verity began her song, a more focused one this time, with couplets about the springtime and the horrors that could lurk in dark places that the spring sun had not yet touched. It was a little morose, Alfric thought, but it made him stronger, and the actual words didn’t matter much, so long as they were helping Verity to focus on the rhythms and melodies.
Alfric waited at the closed door, sword drawn, hoping that nothing would hear the song and come through. In some dungeons, the first sound would send almost every creature running, all at once, to the source of the noise. It was rare, but he had heard of it happening, and if that happened in their first dungeon, well, that was a melee they would face down, but it was unlikely that he would be able to escape without serious injuries, even if the rest of the party acted as they should.
After a few minutes, he relaxed and lowered his sword slightly. There was no sound except the song.
“What does the sword do?” asked Mizuki. “I saw lightning.”
“It’s electric,” replied Alfric. “A fairly mild effect unless I use one of the charges and a good candidate for replacement. It was my father’s weapon when he went into the dungeons.” He went out of his fighting stance and turned back toward them, keeping one eye on the door. “You can touch it, if you’d like.” He held the sword out, and Isra tentatively stepped forward, pressing her finger against the blade for a moment, then giving a curt nod, her face expressionless, which Alfric found surprising. Mizuki frowned, looked at Isra, then stepped forward and touched the blade too, almost immediately leaping back and swearing.