The gold ring she had offered Cullis was probably worth a fortune, but she didn’t have anything less, and her pockets were bulging with other treasures. It vanished from her hand, Cullis grabbing at it and secreting it away in his baggy, tattered cloak. He looked a little more sweat- and ash-stained than usual, but he seemed largely unaffected by the attack, other than looking a bit more tired.

‘Good pickings girl, good pickings. Must’ve found the body of some high-blood, I’m guessing. Nice blade as well.’ He reached for it, and she barely stepped back in time, feeling it trying to pull itself forward to stab him. He looked at her strangely but didn’t press the point. ‘Aye, I suppose you’ll be wanting more than your dags to keep you safe. Lots of bad shit going down. Well, old Cullis is off. Too much blood for my liking. There’s tales of ghouls out in these parts, flesheaters and other monsters. Now the armies are gone, they’ll all be out, sure enough. And the corpse-botherers, looking for intact ones to raise for themselves. Better off out of it, I’d reckon you should do the same. So, what’s old Cullis able to do for young Ruesin?’

She pulled out the scroll. ‘What’s this say?’

He peered at it, having to move his face close to it, moving his finger over the symbols, mouthing things under his breath.

‘Can you read it?’

‘Patience, young Ruesin. This reading business is more complicated than it looks! It’s all fancy-folk writing, nothing that someone like you would understand. It looks like…’ He paused, although it was impossible to tell whether it was for effect or to buy himself time to read the scroll. ‘…it’s a guide to some treasure hoards. Have you been rummaging around places others would rather you didn’t? Well, you’ve done well, Ruesin. Some lord’s left some treasures in places. Well, it’s your lucky day – old Cullis is going to help you, and I won’t even take all of the loot for myself. You did well to bring it to me, most of the others would have killed you and taken it from you. But you and me, we can make a killing at this, with my cunning and your sword. Says here there’s traps, but that’s probably just to scare people off. Looks like we’re heading Redcastle way – heard there’s a lot of pretty ladies there. And with the money I’ll have, can have all the ladies I want!’

He started ambling away with a surprising turn of speed, the scroll dangling from his hand. The sword pulled at her hand, wanting to bury itself in a body, to be bathed in blood, but it was more of a vague desire than a firmly stated intent, and so she managed to hold it back.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Well, it says here that we need to go towards Athan’s Needle. Ain’t too far to go, and I’m sure I can find some horses. You know how to ride?’

She shook her head. ‘Well, you’re young, you can learn. Time’s a wasting, young Ruesin, and we’d best be gone before night falls and the scavengers emerge. I ain’t lived this long to get eaten on some gods-forsaken field – when I die, I want it to be in a big, fancy bed, surrounded by women!’

Riding didn’t seem too hard, although it was making Ruesin’s thighs and butt sore as the horse clopped and clumped along. The horse seemed to keep wandering off on its own, stopping to munch at grass and bushes until she managed to get it moving again, following behind Cullis’ steed. The saddlebags were full of other loot, trinkets and treasure taken from the battlefield – most of it was bare coppers or silvers, the wealthiest pickings attracting those willing to fight to keep them, and not worth the risk. She’d kept her own treasures secret, not revealing the gold she had on her.

As they travelled, they passed others – the differences between “defeated soldiers”, “refugees” and “other scavengers” were impossible to tell, although they kept a safe distance from any groups, not wanting to get drawn into fights or disputes. As they passed close by others, she could feel the sword drowsily tugging at her, wanting to lunge towards living flesh. Strangely, it didn’t seem to react to the horse, only to people. Still, she kept one hand on the hilt, just to make sure the blade didn’t cut or stab at the horse. The spectre was still following along, although was virtually invisible in the light, nothing more than a vague shadowy shimmering in the air, easy to mistake for heat-haze or dust in the eye.

Their destination quickly became obvious – a massive pillar of red stone that was ahead of them, stretching high up out of the flat plains. There was a road leading straight there, one of the old magical stone roads that never broke, running arrow-straight towards it. They passed through a small village that was completely abandoned, everything boarded up, one or both of the armies having taken anything valuable. A gibbet had been erected in the town square, bodies swinging from it – whether they were members of the armies, or townsfolk too slow to obey, was impossible to say.

It didn’t take much longer to reach the pillar – up close, its size was even more impressive, a red needle-spike stretching higher than anything she had ever seen, seemingly built as a single piece, without any cracks or construction-marks. There didn’t seem to be any purpose to it – it was too narrow to be useful as a building, maybe sixty paces around, without any windows or other breaks. It was stood apart from anything else, the ground around it bare earth, with a large stone shrine surrounded by faded and weather-beaten offerings.

‘Says here that you’re meant to do something with the blade. Says that you should be able to see something silver? Go cut that.’

Ruesin looked around – the area around the tower looked bare and empty. She drew the blade and walked a safe distance from Cullis, before whispering to the wraith-shape, barely visible in the sunlight. ‘Where do I go? What do I need to do?’

It was only visible as a thin shadow in mid-air, but it moved away, and she followed it around the base of the red tower. Something rippled at the edge of her vision, a thin dancing shimmer that made her blink, thinking it was a defect in her vision. But it wasn’t, the silver smear persisting where it hung, somehow hovering in empty space. She carefully approached, leading with the blade in case it attacked or she needed to fight. The spectre trailed along with her, staying close by. She poked the silvery scar with the sword, and suddenly the world went cold and dark, a terrifying feeling of falling/rising, all at once.

She quickly opened her eyes and looked around. Where was she now? Stone, cold and dark, surrounded her – a bare stone floor, ceiling and walls, carved with niches and nooks of dark grey rock and black shadow. She heard a sound and spun, sword at the ready, finding her hand suddenly empty.

There was a young boy there, dressed in ragged and tattered clothing. He had a heavy metal fetter around his neck and a shackle on his wrist, a length of chain hanging from each. His eyes were glazed over, his head tilted and his jaw slack, some kind of metal wire or circlet wound through his messy red-and-black hair. He turned slightly to look at her and emitted a sound, a low and sonorous groan that made her stumble backwards in surprise. Who the hell was he? And where the hell was her sword? And where was she?

The spectre had come with her as well, being darker and more clearly defined and easier to see, bearing some resemblance to the person she had killed, although still mist from the waist down. The young boy groaned again, still staring vaguely at her, eyes unfocused. She waved her hand in front of him several times, without provoking any response – she’d seen other people that were similar after being hit in the head or going through too much shit. ‘Who in the hells are you? Any idea where we are?’

The boy groaned again without forming any intelligible words – it didn’t seem he would be helpful at all, and the spectral shape couldn’t talk either. She took a step away from him, just in case he turned violent before having a look around.

Despite the unnerving environment, this looked almost like a small camp, with a cloth tent set up as well as travelling equipment; there was a neatly packed travelling bag, with a sleeping roll strapped on top, magically preserved rations, and glowing potions. She picked one up, a thick and oily red liquid inside, and uncorked it, giving it a sniff. It had an odour like flowers, sickly-sweet and fragrant, like an entire field of flowers compressed into a single liquid.

She picked it up and walked over to the boy, then held it up to his lips and poured some in. Potions were normally healing, right? He opened his mouth to suck on the bottle, gulping at the liquid. It might help whatever was wrong with him, or at least would help find out what it did. The boy’s eyes focused for a moment, managing to actually look at her, a vague grin settling onto his features. When she moved away, he took a shambling step towards her, eyes fixated. When she took another step away, he followed, giving another low groan, still giving a vapid grin. Was he going to follow her now? At least he might be useful to distract any monsters. She’d never been in a dungeon, but from what she heard, they always had monsters. And traps! She would have to be careful

She shivered as she looked around – the place was cold and empty, except for the camping equipment. She took the pack and swung it onto her back, grunting slightly under the weight, but glad of the aid. Not that she had any idea where she was or how to get out! She turned to the spectre. ‘You know where to go?’ It hovered in the air without responding beyond the red eyes narrowing at her for a moment.

‘You’re all useless!’ Although there wasn’t a huge choice in where to go – the place was filled with the stone walls, each one filled with empty niches. She’d slept in a catacomb before which had been similar, although that had been filled with skeletons. At least it had been dry though, better than sleeping out in the rain.

She started to walk along the passageway, taking a moment to marvel at the sheer size of the space. For somewhere that seemed to be inside, it was huge, stretching further than she could see. There was just more and more of the stone walls and barriers. Where was she? She looked down, seeing a chalk arrow scribbled onto the floor.

The boy shambled along, his bare feet slapping against the stone, arms barely moving. His eyes were looking at her, fixed on her, moving whenever she did, a faint flush on the boys tanned cheeks. They moved through the stone passageways, the only sound that of the boy’s feet on the stone.

The air was still and quiet, a musty scent of old stone in the air. She pulled out a dagger from the altar, just in case something did attack, and continued onwards. The place stretched for what must have been miles, but she somehow never seemed to get tired, nor did the low, chill light ever shift, just a perpetual twilight gloom. Whenever there was a junction, there would be a chalked marker on the floor, pointing at one of the options and giving Ruesin an indication of where to go.

A passageway led to a long stone hallway, a single corridor stretching further than she could see. The walls were bland and featureless, cut smooth but unadorned and undecorated save for some strange and mottled patches. She kept well away from them, in case they were traps of some kind. The boy groaned and then ran past her, arms limply dangling and flopping.

‘Hey!’ She gave chase, wincing at how the sound shattered the silence, but there didn’t seem to be anyone or anything here. The boy touched part of the wall and it faded away into a lintelled doorframe, before he stepped out of sight. Ruesin chased after him, skidded around the corner, and then stopped in shock.

The chamber in front of her was circular and filled with horrific and demonic shapes. They crawled from the walls, floor and ceiling, hideous forms making her stop and freeze, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. The boy had run ahead and was standing in the middle of the chamber, where all the demons were looking.

The demons hadn’t noticed her – they weren’t even moving, utterly still and motionless. They didn’t move at all, and she realised that they were stone, carefully carved statues. She shuddered. Why would anyone make such creepy looking things? She touched one of the closest ones, a bulky and oversized humanoid that had four hands each tipped with seven fingers, all reaching forward as though to grasp something. Patting it made it clear that it was just stone, not even painted or decorated, slightly chill to the touch, but smooth under her fingers, rather than gritty or rough.

The boy was moving between the statues, dumbly staring at them, without any seeming order or pattern. All of the things were hideous; even the relatively human ones were still misshapen freaks, like a woman with snakes wreathing her head, or a man with horns curving out from his head. It was creepy being stared at by them all, cold and unblinking eyes seeming to focus on her, following her as she moved.

She poked at one with a dagger – the blade was enchanted, the edge supernaturally keen as it scratched at the stone, leaving a long white scratch on the statue. The spectre emerged through a mass of horns and wings, simply moving through the statue and making her jump. ‘Don’t do that!’ It just stared at her.

In the centre of the room, the focus of the creature’s stares was an altar of shiny black stone, capturing her reflection within it. A darkness on her hand caught her attention – on the back of her hand was a black mark, a line running between her middle knuckles and her wrist, with a cross-piece near her wrist, marked by a fleck of red. She tried rubbing at it but without any effect. Was it some mark from the sword, or some magic cast upon her? It looked like a tattoo, but the black was deeper and darker than any she had ever seen. She rubbed at it until her skin ached without making any impact, before giving up and turning to the alter.

On it were two rings, gold looking somehow dark-tinted, with blood-red gems set into them. She poked one with a dagger – nothing happened, so she took it. The metal felt warmer than it should have, the band warm as though it had been recently worn, giving a feeling of comfort. Ruesin slipped one onto a finger, feeling an upswelling of protection, an aura settling over her. The other ring increased this sensation, some magic now protecting her.

‘Guhhh!’ The boy ran over to one of the statues, depicting a weak and scrawny-looking creature, although it still seemed to have very sharp claws and teeth. He patted it on the head and made a strange and unnerving crooning sound, before turning back to Ruesin. ‘Guuh. Mrrrmm!’ He was babbling – who was he? She tried waving her hand in front of his eyes, but all he did was grin vacantly at her. Had he been stuck here, wherever here was for long enough to go funny in the head?

‘You know how to get out?’

‘Brrrppphhh.’ He puffed out his cheeks and babbled again.

‘Fucking hell, you’re useless, aren’t you?’ Her voice echoed and twisted strangely, the space seeming to pull the sound from her lips and amplify it. She clamped her mouth shut – Kinnevar had somehow managed to speak to her mind, maybe she could do that? She stared at the boy and concentrated, trying to will words into their head. If she did anything, there was no indication of it, the boy just giving her a slack-jawed look. Beneath his tatty fringe she could see some kind of mark, black lines daubed onto his skin, complex squiggles and curves, looking like the spell-glyphs Kinnevar had conjured up.

She licked her thumb and rubbed it against his forehead, smearing the design a bit. He smiled vacantly back at her and rocked his head back and forth as a low growl sounded from behind her, from the entranceway.

She spun around just in time to dodge a sudden claw-strike from an attacker, a mottle-skinned creature, hard to properly see as she tried to protect herself from another attack, claws deflecting off a protective aura that sheathed her body. She stepped backwards, just barely evading another clawed hand that tried to grab at her, scraping her flesh on the spiney flesh of some monstrous statue.

‘Help me!’ She commanded the spectre, which darted forward, ghostly arms reaching through the monster. It paused for a moment and growled in pain, giving Ruesin the chance to stab it with a dagger. Her blade sank into its skin, slicing through scales and leaving a trail of blue ichor. She stabbed again, but it jumped back, clawing at the spectre. It seemed thinner now, form even harder to see, the red eyes less bright, movements a bit slower.

She pressed the attack, swinging at its now-undefended flank. Did it have innards? Her blade sank into flesh, more ichor gushing out, as it gurgled and gasped before clawing at her face, catching her on the temple. She felt blood well out, hot and wet on her skin, already threatening to fall into her eyes.

The boy made a strangled, grunting sound, raising an arm to point at the creature. It froze, turning to look at him, and Ruesin drew her blade back and then stabbed it in the throat. The body started to melt and fade, turning into thick black ash, swirling in the air for a moment before flowing towards her and the boy. She tried to dodge it, not wanting to choke on it, fearful of another attack, but as it touched her, it vanished, fading into her skin. The haze around the boy behaved likewise, fading into him.

‘What was that? How the hell do I get back?’ Neither the boy nor the spectre responded, although the spectre appeared less solid now, the claw-marks from the attacker still apparent, as the body faded away entirely, not even leaving a body behind. She shivered – this place was creepy, despite the directions left behind. She’d heard stories of fairy-lands and soul-stealers, but they were normally brighter, less stony and dark. Dwarfs didn’t seem to go in for such things, but she’d never met a dwarf, maybe the stories were wrong? Although she hadn’t seen any short beardies, and everything was massive-sized, not built for small people.

‘Muuuhhh! Muuhhh!’ The boy was rolling his head around, suddenly more animated, smiling in her vague direction. He sliced a hand through the air in a swift double-movement, an “X” shape of silvery light appearing, before he looked strangely smug. She poked it with a dagger, without any seeming effect, the blade vanishing from view before she pulled it back.

‘Can I use that to get out of here?’

‘Bluuurrrhhhhh.’ He babbled again, having returned to playing with the statues. Well, she didn’t want to stay here, in case something bigger than that small demon-thing attacked. She grabbed the scruff of his collar and spun around, using her slight weight to spin him forward and shoved him through the silverly light. She felt her grip loosen as he vanished, sucked through whatever the portal was.

There seemed nothing for it but to follow, and so she stepped through the glowing light. There was a sickening moment/eternity of falling/not-falling, her balance screaming at her that she was moving, even as her senses went utterly dark and failed to register anything, before she was suddenly slammed into the ground, dry dirt smacking into her face.

As quickly as she could, she rolled to her feet, knife in hand, glancing about in case of attackers. Compared to the stony silence of that other place, the sudden assault of sound – insects buzzing, distant birdsong, wind rustling through the air – was deafening. It was dark, the stars visible bright above her, one of the moons fat and bright, the other two just thin slivers.

‘Where the fuck did you go?’

Old Cullis limped over, a vague shape in the darkness, although recognisable from the odour alone. A campfire burned some distance away, silhouetting his form. As she took a step forward, she felt her foot connect with something, metal skittering against bare dirt. She squinted downwards – it was the blade, a sharp edge of dark metal, visible by how it drank in the light. As she picked it up, she felt a surge of strength pass into her, making her feel more confident and powerful. She yanked it backwards as it tried to pull towards Cullis, wanting to kill him before it settled into a hazy acquiescence.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice, waving with his stick. ‘Ain’t nothing here, lass. Empty ground and this giant red cock of a tower. Some god’s bell-end, most like. Thought you’d been grabbed by a curse or some shit, where’d you go?’

She moved towards the campfire, keeping her arm tense in case the blade made a sudden lunge to attack, then unslung the pack and dumped it onto the ground. ‘Dunno. Weird magical shit. Got this.’ She didn’t mention the rings – having magical protection seemed useful to have. As soon as she put it down, he grabbed at it, opening it and pulling out the contents. He looked at the potions, seeing the one Ruesin had opened. He took a sniff himself, then recoiled.

‘Nasty stuff that – don’t want to be mucking around with love potions. Can cause all sorts of problems if the wrong person takes it. Don’t want love-sickness!’ He upended it onto the ground, the heavy and thick fluid soaking into the ground, sickly-sweet scent washing out, before he tossed the bottle into the darkness. It flew out of sight, breaking with a shatter somewhere. He dug through the rest, sniffing at each, careful not to taste them. ‘Useful stuff. Where’d you go? Vanished for several hours. Fucking wizard bullshit, always makes things wierd.’ He kept digging through the pack before pulling out a small pouch and opening it. ‘Gold! And a decent amount. Well, I’ll keep hold of it for now.’

Ruesin shivered at the memories. ‘Weird and old and cold. Felt like I was walking for days! Hey, you seen a weird kid around? Kinda daft and dribbly?’ She looked around – where had the boy gone? There was no sign of him. The sword throbbed in her hand, feeling overly warm, almost blush-hot in her hand, and she gripped it tightly, not wanting it to try and kill Cullis.

The sleeping roll in the pack was well-made, luxuriously soft and padded, especially when compared to sleeping on the bare ground. She kept the sword close at hand, just in case, before curling up to sleep, the eyes of the spectre still watching her, red gems glaring down at her.