Underkeeper

“Jori, hi!” Elyn gushed “Look guys, it’s Jori!”

Furin offered a neutral grunt while Therion gave her a friendly nod.

“So, where’s Bernt?” Syrah asked again.

“He is practicing his spells,” Jori explained. “Great One Ed said that he has to adjust to his new investiture. Are you going to go back into the dungeon?” She’d thought most of the adventurers wouldn’t want to return after what happened. They didn’t look nervous, though, and Syrah’s eyes were glued to the entrance, suggesting a burning desire more than any kind of wariness.

Therion grimaced. “We don’t have a choice, really. Count Narald declared a state of emergency, and the general wants all of the adventurers who’ve been inside before to be here to guide the soldiers and provide support. Each party is going to be assigned an exploratory team to accompany them as they push their perimeter further down into the dungeon. How did Bernt get out of it? Did you say he got an investiture, finally?”

Jori shrugged at the first question and answered the second. “Yes? It was made with burning rain. I like how it looks, but it’s not as good as my fire.” Not that he would be able to handle that.

She gestured toward the entrance. “Can you get them to let me inside? I am going to be an Underkeeper! Kind of. I have to meet Dayle inside—the Great One told me to help him today.”

“… Dayle?” Therion said, obviously confused.

“She’s talking about that other Underkeeper—the one who dragged Bernt off when we got out,” came Oren’s voice from directly behind Jori. The little imp jumped in surprise and spun around to find the thief grinning down at her. He winked, then turned and started walking toward the breach. “Come on!” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s see if we can talk them into letting us in! Adventurers still have looting rights in there, you know. Being the first adventurers inside, now that it’s being cleared, could really pay off. Assuming, of course, that those busy little soldier ants don’t clear out all the goodies before we can take a look.”

That turned out to be a persuasive argument. The party gathered their things without protest and walked over to the entrance. Their approach drew some looks from both the waiting soldiers and the adventurers, but nobody commented until they reached the soldiers guarding the way in.

That was good. Jori wanted to avoid any confrontations, especially in the middle of an army. She tried to hang back a bit at first, but Oren pulled her right up to the soldiers and introduced her as “the Underkeeper’s pet demon” who needed access to the dungeon to meet up with her “handler.”

She felt a little insulted by that description, and almost pointed out that she wasn’t associated with Dayle in any meaningful way—but she stopped herself. Arguing now would only make things more difficult. The soldier took a look at her and her robes, frowned, and then waved her through, nodding toward another nearby soldier.

“Escort the demon down to the Underkeeper at the vanguard.”

Oren coughed. “We’d be happy to take her down. I understand we’re about to be deployed inside anyway—the orders I got were pretty insistent that we hurry down here, after all.”

The soldier huffed a laugh. “It’s the military, the orders always sound urgent. Your party will already have been assigned a unit to work with—you’ll need to wait until the officers get you sorted out. I wouldn’t count on going down today, either. Most likely, everyone out here is just acting as reserves in case things get hairy in there. No telling what the kobolds are up to.”

Giving the adventurers a shrug, Jori followed the other soldier inside. The human led her in through the main entrance, and just like that, she was back in the tunnels. It felt like a different world, despite how close it was to home. It was cool, dark, and practically dripping with the scent of blood. The sounds of fighting had stopped.

They emerged into a chamber full of supplies and injured soldiers, many of whom were just sitting around, bleeding. She saw spare weapons, but also open crates of different-colored potions. Next to them stood a bunch of bottles almost as big as she was, some filled with light green and others with clear liquid. They were far too big to drink, even for a human, and they were sealed tight with lead, rather than stoppered with corks like normal potions.

Soldiers scrambled up and down the tunnels, some carrying supplies further in and others helping wounded soldiers back up. Someone with a more brightly colored uniform was handing out small healing potions to new arrivals. After taking a potion, each soldier wandered over to join the others where they sat, waiting to recover and return to their duties.

Without hesitating, her guide led her down the leftmost tunnel. There were broken traps everywhere, many accompanied by blood spatters. They reached the vanguard in the next chamber—a collection of weary-looking soldiers, an untidy heap of dead kobolds, and a grumpy and disheveled Dayle. Another mage, a uniformed woman with a white armband and a runed fan, was sitting in a corner looking bored. She wore a bandolier that held several long-necked bottles of a blue-tinged liquid. She’d never seen a mage carry potions like that and wondered what they were for. Something terrible, probably.

At the sight of the bodies, Jori felt her hunger for the energies trapped within stir. But… she didn’t want to scare these soldiers. Maybe she could sneak a bite here or there if she was discreet.

“Dayle!” she greeted her new, sort-of colleague. “The Great One sent me to help you!”

Dayle looked up from what he’d been staring at—a huge brute of a kobold, or what was left of it. Its features were broader than usual, more dragon-like, but it didn’t have any wings.

“Jori.” His eyes flicked to the other soldiers in the room, who had paused in their activities and were watching her a little warily. “So, you’re here to join the fun?”

“Yes! What are we doing?”

“What does it look like?” Dayle nodded toward the bodies. “We’re pushing in to cut off the kobolds from their other tunnels into the city—we don’t want to get miles into the dungeon only to find them popping up in the city behind our backs. We could probably use someone who can scout the nearby tunnels down here without tripping all the traps.”

Jori grinned. This was going to be fun.

***

The area around the main breach was teeming with activity. Rank upon rank of soldiers stood in the sun—well over a thousand of them filling the street that Bernt could see. A loose group of adventurers stood off to one side, near the command post: the survivors of the dungeon. Most of them, at least. They looked battered from the fight yesterday, yet quite a bit more enthusiastic about being there than Bernt felt.

He found his party easily enough, and was surprised to hear they’d run into Jori just a few minutes earlier.

What surprised him even more, though, was that she was apparently inside the dungeon with Dayle. And Oren had gotten her in, of all people. Bernt would have thought the thief would sneak in himself, somehow.

“So, what are you doing here?” Therion asked. “Jori told us you were adjusting to your new investiture.”

Bernt halfheartedly nodded in the direction of the southern gate. “One of the gate guards down that way told me everyone who was inside the dungeon was expected to be here—the soldiers are apparently running sweeps, and I figured they would probably grab all the Underkeepers.” As he said it, though, Bernt realized he didn’t see any other gray robes—there were no other Underkeepers out here. Maybe he could have gotten out of this. “Ed said we were going in tomorrow.”

Oren shrugged, looking peeved. “It sounds like your archmage was right. That guard over there, by the entrance, he told us we got summoned down here to wait. As if we didn’t have things to do a day after half the city got ripped to shreds.”

“Like what? Were you planning to go looting in the Crafters’ District?” Syrah rolled her eyes at him. “This is as good a way to spend a day as any.”

The thief threw her a dirty look, but didn’t answer. He probably was planning to do something along those lines, now that Bernt thought about it.

Ignoring the exchange, Bernt sighed. “It sounds like something the general would do, if what I’ve heard so far is anything to go by. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of respect for the guilds—especially not the adventurers. He thinks the threat in the dungeon was… exaggerated. Making us wait here as nominal reserves might be his way of trying to teach us a lesson.”

“Well,” Therion said, nodding his chin up toward the soldiers, “at least we’re not stuck standing in formation like those poor suckers. Let’s go find a shady spot to sit.”

The group eventually found an unoccupied spot under the eaves of an empty shop, where they squatted, swapping stories about the battle. Therion and his father had spent the day holding a breach by themselves. Syrah and Furin had set up at a guard station near her home in the temple district, Syrah healing wounded guards and civilians who came looking for refuge while Furin assisted the guards.

Meanwhile, Elyn was cornered by marauding kobolds in the Crafters’ District. Apparently, she’d managed to charm about half of them into attacking the others before hiding in a nearby alley. Oren… didn’t share. Bernt guessed he hadn’t been much help, but decided not to voice his suspicions. The man was a thief, after all.

When Bernt’s turn came, he told them everything, from the first fight at the breach under the guardhouse to the battle at the park and the hours-long slog that followed.

“I didn’t really consider it until a few minutes ago, but I pretty much only used my fire dart spell the entire day. I couldn’t cast bigger spells because of the spiritual injury I already had.” He looked over at Therion. “The pyromancers at the academy emphasized large-scale casting to take down entire formations. I always figured I’d just throw fire darts when a big spell wasn’t called for, but I’m realizing now that I’m leaving a lot of useful tools unused…” Bernt swallowed. “I need to learn to use basic cantrips in combat. Can you help me?”

A wide, gratified smile spread over Therion’s face. Bernt groaned inwardly—he sounded like an idiot.

“Of course! Fighting in small groups is all about getting sneaky with the small stuff! You can kill an opponent with a well-placed mage hand, if you time it right! We should do some sparring!”