“My goodness, the smell in here is horrendous,” moaned Eigosh, his face contorted as he clutched his nose, the putrid odor of rotting sewage and stale waste assaulting his senses. “Are you quite sure that there isn’t a better way back onto the palace grounds?”
“No, this is it,” I replied, grimacing as I battled the overwhelming stench that clawed at my nostrils. “Just think about the money that could be yours—and rescuing Sharro, of course.”
“She had better be grateful, and the money had better be plentiful,” he retorted, his voice a low rumble mingled with exasperation.
“Which part of ‘king’s treasury’ do you not fully understand?” Xaset interjected, his eyes sparkling with mischievous excitement as he flashed a grin that promised danger and delight in equal measure.
Xaset, unfazed by the fetid reek, exuded a peculiar aura as small, flickering flames danced from his nostrils—a spectacle he insisted was no magical spell but a natural, if bizarre, quirk. The rest of us, including the hulking orcs, trudged through the sewer’s murky passage, our every breath filled with the acrid tang of sewage and the earthy decay of ancient waste.
We advanced along a narrow, winding path deep within the labyrinthine tunnels of the city’s sewerage system. A few magical lights, bobbing like will-o’-the-wisps, illuminated our path with a ghostly glow. Their feeble radiance revealed the surreal sight of drifting, half-submerged turds that spun lazily in the stagnant water, a grim reminder of the environment we now navigated.
The tunnel walls, carved with immaculate precision as if assembled by enchanted hands, shimmered with a faint luminescence. Seamless stonework created an eerie, unyielding barrier, while clumps of green and brown organic matter clung to every crevice like bizarre floating islets in a river of murk.
Before we had plunged into the underground maze, I had spent an hour meticulously outlining the plan to the troupe. Once they had heard of the staggering amount of gold we intended to liberate, their eyes ignited with greedy anticipation. And, of course, the promise of rescuing Sharro only added fuel to their fervor—though, truth be told, it was the lure of wealth that had first roused their spirits.
With determined urgency, we pressed forward along the slippery, narrow tunnels, our steps echoing softly against damp stone. Xaset led the way, his confident stride cutting through the gloom. The previous day, with our under-city guide’s help, we had set markers along the route, and now those markers guided us unerringly through the dark labyrinth.
The old man, our guide, had been indispensable. His weathered face and knowing eyes betrayed years spent sifting through the refuse of the underbelly, his every word a gem of local lore. He had pointed out secret passages and hidden routes, revealing paths only known to one who sifted through the detritus for precious scraps. His intimate knowledge of the palace environs made him a silent guardian of our mission. His chatter, though ceaseless, was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive stench—a reminder that the lower echelons of society often held wisdom that the lofty rarely knew.
“OK, it’s right up here,” Xaset called from ahead, his voice echoing off the damp walls. “Be careful of the climb. It’s slippery—best not to ask what you’re stepping on down here.”
We edged our way over a section of the path where brown, sluggish water flowed like a treacherous stream. “You’d better have that cleaning spell ready when we’ve finished clambering through this,” Tuallez snapped, wrinkling her nose as the repugnant odor invaded her senses. “And she had better be grateful for this.”
The groans and complaints of the more vocally displeased team members melded with the sound of our cautious footsteps, each squelching sound punctuating the oppressive silence as we neared the palace exit. The orcs, hulking and grim, endured the foul conditions in silence; their stoic expressions belied the suffering that the noxious sewer exacted from them. I could only hope that tonight would reward their sacrifice.
At long last, with our garments sodden and streaked with brown waste, we congregated at the base of a rusted ladder leading upward toward the palace gardens. Gazing upward, I beheld a thick iron grating looming in the darkness—a forbidding barrier against intruders. Flanking the vertical shaft, ancient pipes jutted out, their metallic surfaces glistening with the residue of royal sewage that cascaded like grotesque waterfalls into the tunnels below. I mused silently on whether the palace’s waste bore any semblance of refinement or if it was as unremarkable as the rest of the city’s filth.
“Up you go, Xaset,” I reminded him, my tone laced with both command and camaraderie.
Xaset began his ascent, the rusty ladder groaning under his weight. Brown water and solid waste splattered over him in a chaotic ballet, drawing shocked gasps from the rest of us. “Great,” Tuallez muttered bitterly. “I guess we're all going to have to climb through that brown waterfall.”
“Yep, that’s the way to the palace gardens,” came the resigned reply.
When Xaset reached the top of the drain, I craned my neck upward. Initially, a dim light flickered in the distance, but soon a yellow-white brilliance began to flood our vision. As anticipated, Xaset exhaled a torrent of flames that licked the edges of the iron bars, his fiery breath melting the metal in a dazzling display. The glow lingered for several heart-pounding minutes as we dodged sizzling droplets of molten metal that fell like deadly raindrops. Then I noticed a solitary figure—a man of immense strength—pulling down the grating, now precariously held by a single bar. I marveled at his power for a fleeting second before reality called me to climb the ladder myself.
After heaving my body upward through the narrow opening, I emerged onto the upper ledge, shoving aside encroaching bushes that had begun to reclaim the open drain. Gasping for fresh air, I hastily cast a cleaning spell over myself, the magic washing away the remnants of sewage and grime. Xaset, his face still lit with a triumphant smile in the moonlight, teased, “Having fun yet?”
“What's not fun about crawling through miles of underground tunnels full of brown filth?” he replied with a wry laugh. “Now, let’s get some gold and rescue the girl.”
Soon, the entire troupe emerged from the drain. I methodically cast several cleaning spells, the arcane energy purifying us from the stench that would otherwise give us away upon entering the palace. Once refreshed, we crept along little-used, overgrown pathways through the palace garden, the darkness and dense foliage providing a natural shroud against prying eyes. This hidden route, carefully scouted by Xaset earlier that day, proved ideal for our covert advance. The silent expertise with which each member moved ensured that our progress remained unnoticed, and before long we reached the outer walls of the mansion.
Finding a dark, secluded alcove, I huddled with Kluko and Trikob—the acrobatic duo—who crouched silently behind me. “You know what to do. First, search the palace until you find her. Also, keep an eye out for the earl and his daughter, as they may come in useful,” I instructed softly.
They nodded, their eyes gleaming with practiced determination, and with fluid grace they slinked toward the palace wall. In moments, they scaled the wall with effortless agility, flipping and somersaulting with the ease of seasoned performers. Each window they passed, they peered in with cautious curiosity before vanishing around a shadowed corner of the mansion. I silently prayed for their safe return, for I was unaccustomed to relying so heavily on the skills of others.
“OK, let’s go to the treasury, then,” I declared, and a ripple of excited nods passed through the group. We departed our temporary refuge with unwavering precision, guided by the map painstakingly drawn from Xaset’s earlier reconnaissance. It led us inexorably to a discreet entrance on the palace’s ground floor—a modest rear door once used by the servants. Outside, a solitary, flickering lamp cast a weak glow, its flame struggling against the encroaching darkness. Fortuitously, the door lay unguarded; perhaps the palace’s guards had ventured out in anticipation of an attack from the disgraced nobles.
The door appeared to be barred for the night. With a subtle nod from me, Eigosh emerged from the shadows, his expertise in bypassing mechanical locks evident in the calm confidence of his movements. Illuminated by a narrow beam from his small lamp, he scrutinized the door before extracting a slender, cold piece of metal from within his coat. With deft, almost balletic motions, he manipulated the metal, sliding it through the door’s slats. A slight jolt on the other side indicated his success, and the massive man quietly pried the door open.
Beyond the wooden door lay a corridor cloaked in pitch darkness—a silent guardian of secrets. Eigosh’s precise movements ensured that not a sliver of light betrayed our presence as we crept inside. Once all were secure, he bolted the door shut, erasing any evidence of our intrusion.
Passing his thief’s light to Xaset, the narrow beam revealed the rough, time-worn stone of the corridor. Without a word, Xaset gestured for us to follow, his silent command carrying us through the labyrinthine hallways as he led us by the map etched into our memories. We advanced cautiously along the plain, utilitarian service corridors of the palace, every step measured and deliberate.
Eigosh gripped a sturdy truncheon, his presence a silent warning to any servants who might stir. After a few missteps and unspoken apologies from Xaset, we pressed on, our formation tight behind the fire-breather as we delved deeper into the palace’s hidden veins. The winding, indirect route kept us far from the well-trodden corridors, sparing us from encounters with the oblivious.
I found myself wondering about the opulence that lay behind the imposing doors we passed, yet remained unseen, hidden away in the lavish inner sanctums of the palace. Occasionally, we passed dormitories where slumbering servants lay oblivious to our presence. The thought of disturbing them kept our movements hushed and deliberate.
Nervously, I treaded the uneven stone floors as we descended a spiral staircase. Halfway down, I felt a strange, oppressive pressure—a heavy, magical presence that seemed to compress my thoughts as if the very air around us had thickened with enchantment. After what felt like an eternity of cautious descent, guided only by the soft glow of Eigosh’s lantern, we turned the final corner of the stairway.
At the bottom, the lamp’s light unveiled a stone corridor carved meticulously from granite, with a solitary, massive metal door at its far end. The corridor’s walls, floor, and ceiling were a tapestry of hundreds of carved runes, each pulsating with a subtle, otherworldly energy that hummed in the charged air.
“Whatever you do, don’t enter the corridor,” Xaset warned, his voice trembling with both excitement and caution. “This is not something to be approached lightly.”
I halted at the threshold, hesitating beside the ever-grinning fire-breather. “I can feel some powerful magic emanating from those runes,” I murmured, my hand brushing the cold stone as if to test its energy.
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“No wonder there are no guards. This treasury must be protected by some of the most heavily warded spells I’ve ever seen,” he replied, his tone a mix of awe and pragmatism. Then he turned to address the group, his voice firm: “It’s best if you all go several floors back up. The rest—myself and the fool who dragged us into this mess—will handle it.”
Even the orcs appeared relieved by the prospect. “Good luck, and try not to get anybody killed, Xaset. You can be a bit foolhardy sometimes, to say the least,” Eigosh admonished with a gruff chuckle.
Xaset winked at me as the rest of the team retreated up the stairs. Left alone, I raised an eyebrow at his audacious plan. “My magical knowledge is nowhere near good enough to even think about deactivating these spells,” I admitted, my voice tinged with trepidation. “I don’t have a clue where to start. Do you have any idea how we are going to get through?”
“Simple,” he replied, his smile as relaxed as if he were proposing a leisurely walk in the park. “You’re going to walk down the corridor and trigger all the traps. Then, once you’ve identified them, I’ll follow and overwhelm them with my fire.”
I stared at him in disbelief, my eyebrows arching in shock. His nonchalant demeanor made it seem as though he expected me to saunter into a deathtrap without a moment’s hesitation. I gulped, glancing back at the corridor, its glowing runes promising both peril and wonder.
Time and time again, this treacherous world had hurled challenges my way—each ordeal forging my strength anew. Still, the immense power of the magic here terrified me as I contemplated the task ahead.
“Do you think I’m impervious to death?” I asked, my voice a strained whisper.
“Let’s just say that I think you are,” he replied with a knowing glint in his eyes. “If you make it through that corridor alive, then it’ll confirm what I’ve long suspected about you.”
Trying to provoke more insight, I ventured, “Do you think I’m a Valkin?”
At the mention of the name, Xaset’s eyes flared with an inner fire, and he reached out to place a hand on my arm. For a brief, unnerving moment, his hand transformed—burned and blackened, his fingers almost claw-like—before snapping back to its human form as if nothing amiss had occurred.
“We can discuss that later. Much later, when you’re ready for that knowledge,” he said solemnly, his easy smile returning as if to mask the intensity of the moment. “So—are you up for setting off all the traps, or should we leave all that gold behind?”
I inhaled deeply, steeling myself with memories of past hardships and miraculous recoveries. Every scar had increased my resilience, and I resolved that this ordeal would only further my power. Nodding, I stepped off the cold stone stairway into the corridor.
My very first step was a brutal confirmation of my fears. From the center of clusters of runes, football-sized fireballs erupted, white-hot flames surging like miniature suns toward me from every direction. There was no time to dodge as the incendiary projectiles struck my body in a relentless barrage. Each impact unleashed a searing, gaseous inferno, and within moments, dark smoke billowed as my clothes were incinerated. I crumpled to my knees in agony, my skin blanching to a fiery red before blackening and charring irreversibly. The sticky, scorching plasma seemed to burn into my bones as I writhed on the floor, the air thick with acrid smoke, until unconsciousness claimed me. The last sensation was that of the relentless fire consuming me, reducing my flesh to ash.
For what seemed an eternity, I drifted in a disembodied haze, watching as Xaset methodically obliterated the magical traps with ferocious jets of fire. Gradually, my battered body reformed, and I slowly regained consciousness. My eyes fluttered open to reveal a smiling Xaset, bending over me as he slapped my face with a mix of relief and reprimand.
“I told you you’d be fine. We’ve got the rest of the corridor to clear and not the whole night to do it in, so you’d better get up and hurry,” he chided.
I rose gingerly, glancing down at my scorched, naked body—every inch a testament to the brutal encounter. “Don’t worry about that now; the women aren’t around to see. I’ll get you some clothes once we’re finished,” he assured me, shoving me toward the looming door of the treasury.
With dread coiled in my gut, I began the final stretch down the deadly corridor. The memory of being burnt alive was still seared into my mind, and the cool air against my bare skin made me shiver as my feet trod on the cold, unyielding stone. Every step was fraught with tension, and I could almost hear my heart pounding in my ears, waiting for the next calamity. I estimated I was halfway to the treasury door when, without warning, the ceiling crashed down with a thunderous impact. That was the last sensation I recalled as my consciousness flickered.
For a while, I existed in a disembodied state, observing as Xaset’s fiery breath disintegrated the wall above. Slowly, the runes melted into molten rivulets, and he redirected his blazing force onto the rubble that had fallen atop me. When I reentered my body, I found myself sitting amid the shattered stone, the remnants of the ceiling cooling around me.
“Last little bit, and we’re done,” he said with an encouraging smile, extending his hand to help me up. “We haven’t got all the time in the world. Hurry up.”
Grateful for any mercy, I followed his lead as the final stretch of the corridor revealed no further traps—only melted, charred stone that testified to our fiery battle. I glanced around; the corridor was bathed in a hellish red glow from the cooling metal, its surface marred by dark burn marks. I couldn’t help but wonder at the raw power that Xaset wielded, his cheerful expression belying the intense magic he commanded.
With a flourish that was both theatrical and reassuring, Xaset produced a set of plain working clothes from his inventory. I accepted them gratefully, donning the garments as quickly as I could. We then stood before the massive metal door—the final barrier between us and the treasure beyond. I knocked gently; the sound of solid metal reverberated through the corridor. Dim magical symbols, etched deeply into the surface, glowed faintly with arcane power.
“To open this, I’m going to need you to go back up the stairs and wait with the others,” Xaset instructed gravely, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Is it going to get too hot for me in there?” I joked, managing a wry smile despite the lingering pain. “I’ve already been burnt to death once, so I’m not too worried.”
“Just do as I say—I need some privacy to work this door,” he replied, his voice dark with determination. “And don’t be tempted to look.”
His fierce expression silenced any further protest. Though my curiosity burned like a wildfire, I knew better than to defy him. Our mission was clear: we had to get through that door and claim the gold, and I could satisfy my own inquisitiveness later.
Nodding, I sprinted back up the corridor. As I ascended the steps two at a time—thanks to my long legs—I found the rest of the troupe gathered, their eyes scanning the stairway with wary anticipation. It warmed my heart to see even more companions than before. Among them was Sharro, recently rescued, whose bright smile and outstretched arms invited an embrace. I moved to greet her, but she clutched me in a tight hug instead, murmuring, “Thanks for coming back for me.”
After a brief, tender moment, she stepped back and eyed me curiously. “Those look like Xaset’s clothes,” she observed. “What happened to yours?”
Standing beside the two agile acrobats who had been dispatched to rescue her, she continued, “They say you found me!”
“Not quite,” I interjected, the excitement of reunion momentarily overtaking any explanation. “I managed to get free myself. His Majesty’s guards corralled me with the other women in locked quarters. The door was sturdy, but I had my lock picks—so it was a simple matter to dispatch the guards and pick the lock. I even found an unbarred window to climb out of. Then, I spotted those two clambering around the palace wall, checking every window, and here I am.”
“They’re saying that we’re about to gain access to the king’s treasury. I’m glad I didn’t miss that,” I added, my voice trembling with both excitement and relief.
“Xaset is just opening the vault door now,” I explained. “For some reason, he didn’t want anybody to watch.”
As soon as my words faded into the tense night air, a tremendous roar erupted—a sound like a high-pressure gas pipeline exploding in a burst of fire. Then, as if an afterburner had been ignited, the roar shifted and intensified, emanating from the corridor below. We exchanged anxious glances, silently hoping our deep underground location would keep the chaos contained.
When the cacophony abruptly ceased, an uneasy silence enveloped us. We resumed breathing, our eyes darting along the stairway. “What the hell was that?” Eigosh blurted, his tone a mix of shock and awe. “That dammed fire-breather seems—”
His words died on his lips as Xaset emerged triumphantly. “That dammed fire-breather has managed to open the treasury door,” he announced, his voice ringing with pride. A wave of relief and exhilaration washed over us; even the stoic orcs now beamed with anticipation. Eigosh was the first to charge down the stairs, his massive strides belying his eagerness, soon joined by the rest of the troupe as we broke free from our stupor.
Rounding the final corner, the sight that greeted me was surreal. Where the imposing door once stood, there now lay an empty void. Streams of cooling molten metal trickled and solidified on the floor, casting a hellish red glow that transformed the corridor into a scene reminiscent of the infernos of myth. Dark burn marks scarred the stone, and the air shimmered with the residual heat.
Through the open aperture at the corridor’s end, I beheld a large, treasure-filled room. Amid swirling smoke and the red luminescence, the outlines of chests and tables laden with leather bags of valuables emerged like mirages of fortune.
Eigosh advanced but had to retreat momentarily, his imposing frame forced to yield to the searing heat radiating from the solidified metal. “That looks promising... That looks really promising,” he declared, his voice trembling with excitement.
Now that we had breached the king’s treasury, it was time to confer with the orcs about their pivotal role. My mission for the empress hinged entirely on their cooperation. If the treasure was to be spirited back to the orc empire, they needed to commit to an unyielding, wind-like sprint for days on end.
The empress and her consort had been supremely confident that any orc, once informed that the gold was destined for the wall and the empire, would run with the speed of destiny. Now, I was poised to test that faith.
I caught the eyes of the four orcs, their faces alight with a mixture of anticipation and solemn duty. Approaching them in a hushed tone that only they could discern, I asked, “What would it take for you to regain your honor in the empire?”
My question, like a spark to tinder, transformed their excited murmurs into furrowed brows and grave expressions. The largest among them, who often served as their spokesperson, replied in a low, gravelly tone, “We know you’ve been to the wall of the empire. For us to reclaim our honor, we must perform a great deed in its name—either die in battle or fight with unyielding honor. Not that either option is exactly appealing.”
He finished with a soft chuckle, as if dismissing the morbid alternative.
“I have a proposal from the empress,” I said, a smile curving my lips as though unveiling the most extraordinary opportunity imaginable.
This declaration seized their full attention. The largest orc grasped my arm with a grip that conveyed both skepticism and hope. “A task from the empress? Surely not—we’re dishonored!”
The shock on their faces was palpable, like water sizzling on hot metal, and a single word escaped their lips: “What?!”
“She needs as much treasure from that vault to secure the operation at the wall,” I explained, my tone growing both persuasive and urgent. “That is why I entered the kingdom. You four so-called dishonored orcs are essential to completing the plan I devised with her. I need you to haul as much of the treasure as you can—fast—to the south, where an army awaits.”
One of the smaller orcs piped up, “You planned this all along?”
“Yes,” I affirmed firmly. “You four are the key to returning the wealth to the empress. Will you fail her?”
A surge of determination sparked in their eyes as they straightened, slamming their hands against their chests in a gesture of renewed pride. It was as if a long-dormant fire had been rekindled in their souls, restoring to them the honor of proud, battle-scarred warriors.
“Get as much as you can carry in your inventories and run for it. I’ve marked a route through the sewerage tunnels for your swift exit. The escape leads to a grating under the bridge—almost entirely cut through, except for one remaining bar. Open it, and you’ll be free of the city. Then, just make it through the kingdom; the orc army will be waiting south of Crestville,” I instructed, my voice resonating with the confidence of a well-laid plan.
Their eyes shone with renewed purpose, and they moved immediately, surging ahead of the rest of us who lingered to let the molten metal cool. “Hey, wait a minute so we can all split it equally,” Eigosh protested, a childlike panic in his tone as if his cherished toy were being snatched away.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “There’s more than enough gold and valuables in there—far too much for any one of us to carry. Let the orcs go first; they need to be off as quickly as possible.”
Eigosh, though still curious, relented with a grunt of acknowledgment. We all understood that our spoils would be divided, but the orcs were our ticket to a fortune that promised freedom and retribution.
Inside the treasury room, the orcs began their task with only minor burns, while the rest of us waited, discussing our next move as the heat of the molten metal gradually dissipated. Most of the troupe was eager to leave the oppressive darkness of the palace, their minds fixed on the promise of escape. The only one who remained silent was Sharro.
I noticed that the very first chest the orcs began to loot was the one I had seen the king’s men forcibly filling with the theater goers’ extorted valuables just a few hours prior.
