“You,” a voice called as Tibs exited the large tent that was the barracks. He and those around him froze. Tibs controlled his urge to run. On the streets, you didn’t wait for the guards when they called, not if you wanted to keep your hand. As he turned to face the adventurer who’d spoken, some fled. The man was a fighter. Big, in chain mail, with a sword at his side and a shield over his back. His eyes were a gray matching his sword and his gaze was piercing.

Tibs couldn’t move as it fixed on him and he heard more people run off. The adventurer glanced away and Tibs thought he’d have his chance, but the eyes were on him again.

“Looks like there’s one smart guy in this town.” The man smirked. “You’re going in the dungeon today. Be at the gathering point two hours before zenith.”

“My training,” Tibs asked, before realizing there was a more important question. “Where is that?”

“The dungeon is more important, just tell whoever’s training you that’s where you’re going.” He studied Tibs. “Are you even one of the crooks they brought here? If you’re just pretending, I’m warning you, you don’t want to go in the dungeon.”

Tibs nodded. In the three days he’d been here, that was the most common reaction. When he joined the work-groups after the training, he was dismissed and told to go back to his parents. Now, this adventurer also thought he might be some merchant or worker’s son. Too late, he realized it would have gotten him out of going to the dungeon.

The adventurer clasped his hand on his shoulder and pointed toward the mountain. “Just go where you were assembled when you arrived.”

“The clearing?”

“Yeah. You’ll see the others. You aren’t with the first group.” The fighter released him and walked away.

Tibs hesitated, then hurried to the mess hall for a bowl of the slop they called breakfast; the same substance they’d called dinner the previous night, or lunch before that. Done, he joined his training group and informed the old thief he’d need to leave for the dungeon partway through the training. He received a disinterested shrug from him. The others gave him surprised and worried looks.

Before anyone could ask him questions, they were set to studying traps.

* * * * *

People were assembled closer to the mountain, at the bottom of a slope leading to the rocky facade where three people were exiting a crack in the rock. It seemed narrow as they had to help the last one through, then they were supporting him or her, walking down, as a group of five were motioned to head up to the crack.

“You,” someone called as Tibs headed for the groups at the bottom of the slope. Again he froze at the authority in the voice and looked in its direction. “Come here.” The man stood behind a table with shirts, swords, bows, and knives on it. He wore a worn but bright red robe.

Tibs cast a glance at the assembled people and noticed they wore shirts the same dirty gray as those on the table.

The adventurer looked him over, frowning. “What are you?” His eyes were the same strange shifting colors as the woman who’d addressed all the thieves that first day.

Tibs struggled to figure out what he meant.

“Your class dimwit.”

“Thief?” Tibs had meant to make it a statement.

“You sure? If you’re some merchant kid who thinks he’s going to have fun in there, you’re wrong.”

“I am a thief,” he stated.

The man didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged and threw a shirt at him. “Put that over what you’re wearing.

The weight as it impacted Tibs almost made him lose his balance. The fabric was thick and without any holes in it. It was too big for him, going down almost to his knees, but despite not being as thin or supple as what he normally wore, he managed to fold the sleeves until his hands and forearms were free.

The adventurer snorted and Tibs glared at him, which earned him an amused smirk. The man handed him a knife that had seen better days and pointed to the assembled people. “Now you can join them.”

Before he reached the people, which he realized were gathered into groups of four or five people, a woman stopped him. She wore leather armor colored in mottled browns and had an unstrung bow on her back.

“What are you?” she asked. Her red eyes piercing him.

“Thief,” Tibs answered, this time without hesitation.

“You should get used to calling yourself a Rogue.” She looked the groups over and pointed to one with four people. “You’re with them.” She gave him a light push in their direction.

As he headed for the group, the three who’d exited the crack walked by them. They were in bad shape, bloody, and their shirts cut up. The group of five who’d started up the slope had reached the entrance, and Tibs could tell now it was narrow as they entered one by one, turning sideways.

“I don’t want a kid! This is a dungeon run, not a crawl!” the tallest of the four yelled to the woman as Tibs reached them. He was wide-shouldered and wore the same kind of shirt as Tibs, although on him, it just went down to his belt and it seemed to stretch around his chest and arms instead of hanging loose. He had a sword that had seen better days too. His pants were ripped and a little too short for him.

“He’s not a kid,” the adventurer called back, “he’s your Rogue. No team goes in without one, and you’d do well to listen to him. Dungeons are sneaky.”

“It’s a dungeon,” the fighter yelled back derisively, “not some dragon. It’s just a bunch of rooms with stuff to kill.”

The adventurer ignored him, but one of the injured members of the passing group, an archer by the broken bow in her hands, looked in their direction. She opened her mouth, but the fighter with her said something sharp Tibs didn’t catch. Her brown eyes were filled with fear and pain, and Tibs thought it wasn’t because of what her companion had said.

He looked at the crack and wondered exactly what was in there.

“Are you listening to me?” the fighter said, and Tibs focused on him again. “I said don’t get in my way. That goes for each of you.” He looked around at the three others. One was an archer. She gave Tibs a shy smile when he looked at her. Next to her was another girl, a little older, holding a sword, and the last looked only a couple of years older than Tibs, in robes the same dirty gray. A sorceress, he realized. Which meant it had been a sorcerer behind the table.

Tibs swallowed. He’d heard stories of what sorcerers could do. Burn someone to ashes. Turn them inside out with a gesture. He fought the urge to step away. According to the stories he’d heard, sorcerers were all crazy.

A hand slapping on a surface made him turn. While he and the sorceress studied each other, the group had reached the table where Tibs had received his shirt and knife. The injured archer handed over the pieces of the bow, while the fighter with her dropped his sword and a few coppers on the table.

Tibs stared at them—whole coppers—as the sorcerer grabbed them and dropped them in a metal box. Tibs wondered just how many whole coppers were in that box, and where the box went when the day was over.

“How about I blast your ass right now?” the sorceress said, and Tibs turned to face her. What had he done? But she was glaring at the fighter. “That’s going to make things simple for you, won’t it?”

The fighter snorted. “Like you can do anything at this point. Unlike you, I know how to use a sword. So I’m going to go through that dungeon and if you get in my way, I’ll just cut you down along with anything else in there. I don’t intend on wasting my time. I’m going to graduate fast, and that means killing as much of the things in there as I can. Just don’t get in my way and you can get my leftovers.”

The sorceress raised her hand, the amulet around her neck beginning to glow. She opened her mouth and Tibs moved away. He didn’t want to be caught in whatever she was going to do.

A hand clamped on the sorceress’ shoulder and a man was suddenly behind her. “If you don’t close your mouth, I’ll have no choice but to rip your tongue out.” The words were casual, almost friendly in how they were delivered.

Her mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.

“Good,” the adventurer said. Tibs couldn’t see any sort of weapons on him. The man caught him looking and smiled. His eyes were black and Tibs swallowed. “If your teachers haven’t explained how this works yet, let me. There is no magic outside the dungeon. No thievery, no fighting, no shooting unless you are with your trainer. This is the only warning you’ll receive. If you break the rules again, you’ll receive the punishment you were in your cell waiting for. Trust me, surviving the dungeon when you’re handicapped becomes impossible.”

He dusted the shoulder of her robe. “So, please don’t force me to do something I’d rather not. None of us are here because we want to. Let’s just make the best of it and ensure you live through it, shall we?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He fixed his gaze on the fighter. “You need to stop antagonizing your team. You can’t survive a dungeon by yourself, even one that just appeared like this one. You’re not getting a cleric until the dungeon graduates to Zeta, keep that in mind, and watch each other’s back.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” the archer said, her voice soft. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The man gave her a sad smile. “If you’re here, you broke a law. I can’t change that. I’m sorry.”

“I just killed a rabbit,” she replied, sounding like she was about to cry. The fighter next to her wrapped her arm around the archer’s shoulders. “My family was starving. The king has plenty—”

The adventurer sighed loud enough she stopped. “I already said I can’t do anything about it. We’re all here because of our crimes. You need to own up to them because pity isn’t going to keep you alive. Remember, you need to work together if you’re going to survive.” He turned and walked away.

“I don’t care what he said,” the fighter said once the adventurer was out of earshot. “I don’t need any of you.”

“Don’t worry,” the other fighter standing next to Tibs said, beaming at her counterpart. “Once you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed, I’ll work with the others to make sure we all survive. My goal is to survive until I graduate to Delta and gain my freedom.”

Tibs wondered what the graduating was about. The adventurer had mentioned it in relation to the dungeon, now she was saying it as if it applied to her too. But if it meant freedom, he should pay attention.

“What did you do to end up here?” the sorceress asked, before the other fighter could reply, or Tibs ask for details about graduating.

“I defended myself,” the fighter answered. She motioned stabbing at chest height. “I planted a knife deep in his chest.” Then she moved her hand down to groin height. “And then I cut off his—”

“Hey!” the other fighter protested.

She looked up at him, amused and surprised. “Oh, forgive me, afraid I’ll do the same to you?”

“That’s not stuff you talk about around kids.” He indicated Tibs and the archer, who looked to be the youngest, other than Tibs.

“I didn’t know you gave a damn,” she said, her surprise sounding genuine this time.

The sorceress placed a hand on Tibs’s shoulder. “I’m not going to ask how you ended up here. You’re a thief and you have the look of someone who survived the streets.” Her touch and tone were gentle, a contrast to her earlier speculative study of him. “How old are you?”

Tibs shrugged. “I was too busy surviving to keep track.”

“I’m fifteen,” the archer said, sounding like she’d gotten over her fear. “You can probably tell people you’re fourteen.”

The sorceress cursed, which earned her a dirty look from the guy. “What are they doing sending kids here?” She glared at the fighter. “I don’t care how you ended up here, but our job is to make sure these two survive this ordeal.”

The man snorted. “You want them to survive, go tell them to send them back home.”

She maintained the glare for a few seconds, then looked at Tibs and the archer. “You two stick with me, I’ll make sure you survive.”

“Thanks,” the archer said, and Tibs nodded. He was confused by the guy’s behavior. He didn’t seem to have any problem with Tibs being killed, but he didn’t like that people swore around him? Like Tibs hadn’t heard worse on the street, or known what she was miming cutting off.

In the silence that followed, Tibs noticed someone exit the crack in the mountain; alone, she staggered down the slope. An adventurer rushing to catch her was the only thing that kept her from falling.

“You spoke bravely,” the woman who had guided Tibs to the group said to the fighter. “So how about you and your group go next? I want to still be on duty to see what state you’re in if you survive.” She smiled at him. “So, don’t take too long.” She motioned toward the crack.

At the bottom of the slope proper, two adventurers stood on each side of the path that was forming in the trampled grass. They stopped them. “You’re dealing with three rooms,” the man on the left said. “That’s all I’m telling you. No full teams have come out yet, and just this morning the dungeon ate six of them. Now, when you bring the equipment from your dead members back, you’ll get to keep one copper you found inside.”

Their fighter grinned. “What happens when we all come back?” he smirked at the raised eyebrows. “That’s what’s going to happen this time unless one of them gets in my way.”

“Confident.” The adventurer on the right said. “Like we haven’t heard that before. If you all exit, then we’ll tell you what happens.”

The fighter looked at her. “Then get out of the way so I can clear this thing.”

With a mocking bow and a smirk, she moved out of their way.

“Good luck,” the other adventurer said, rolling his eyes.