The commotion drew Tibs out of the inn along with Khumdar. Jackal was with Kroseph doing their thing, Mez was at the archery field and Carina was off; reading, Tibs suspected by how evasive she’d been when he’d asked what she intended to do for the rest of the day.

A tall woman in green and red and gold glared down her nose at Harry; he simply stared back at her. Runners were watching from along the buildings, while the townsfolk changed direction on noticing the group. With her were four others, one of whom Tibs recognized as the man who’d wanted to know how they had defeated the boss. Except for him, they all looked like fighters. One was holding his arm against his stomach.

“How dare you touch one of my servants,” she shrilled at Harry. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You’re a Runner, just like the rest of them,” Harry replied with disdain. “The fact you paid to be here doesn’t mean you can ignore my rules.”

“Your rules?” She sneered. “I do not obey a man. I am Lady Cabera of Seteniel. I am first of the third matriarchs, next in line to rule the holding of Desmerie, sister to the High Lady of Praditfar, who is the cousin to the Queen Farial herself.” She huffed at the fighter.

“You done?” Harry demanded.

“Am I done?” she didn’t seem to know how to react to the question.

“Yeah. Or do you intend on prattling more lines of meaningless linage?”

“Meaningless?” Her voice rose high enough Tibs winced in pain. “I am—” She froze in place, light coming out of her open mouth. Tibs saw her strain to move, her eyes growing wide in fear.

“You’re lucky I can’t just throw you in a cell or beat the shit out of you for trying to pull this rank bullshit with me.”

The man to the woman’s right took a step forward, pulling a sword out of a scabbard, and Harry’s hand swung at him. It was nowhere close to touching, but there was a flash of light, and the man flew across the road to hit a building. He then crumpled to the ground.

“But you pull a sword on me,” Harry said, smiling, “and things change.” He motioned to the unconscious man and three guards in green and black moved out from the crowd to pull him to his feet and drag him away. “Don’t expect to see him anytime soon,” he told the woman.

Now, even nobles were assembled, staying apart from the other Runners. Harry looked around and nodded.

“Okay, looks like enough of you are here, so listen up! There are rules, my rules, and they are not to be broken! Those of you who paid to be here were told what they are.” He fixed his gaze on the immobile woman. Tibs thought the light was seeping through her clothing. “If you weren’t, take it up with them. One of those rules was that no one discusses what takes place in the dungeon outside of it. I know that before I took charge, the enforcement of those rules wasn’t exactly important. I’m here now, so you are going to keep your mouth shut.”

He raised a hand and pushed it toward the woman, who moved back, her feet making furrows in the packed earth of the street. “You can consider yourself lucky all I’m allowed to do is send you back to that comfortable bed in whatever city you call home. Because you should see what’s going to happen to the team that told you how they beat the floor boss.”

He walked, following her, no, guiding her, Tibs realized. Somehow, Harry was using his light essence not only to hold her still but move her against her will. Tibs followed them, along with most of the Runners, old and new. He was curious what he was going to do with her.

Her servants stayed by her as she moved backward, two looking like they were trying to figure out how to stop her, and the third, the man who’d spoken with Tibs’s team, only walking backward, eyes on Harry, hands inside his sleeves, and Tibs was certain the man was a thief.

“Anyone who is caught talking about the dungeon outside of it will be punished,” Harry said. “For you, conscripts, that means a cell, then some labor to make you understand the importance of the rules. For you paying members, you’re going home and you will never return to this dungeon. Get back in line for the right to pay to enter one of the other dungeons. I’m sure you have enough coins to get a spot in your lifetime.” The man shoved his hand at her and she flew back, landing and stumbling, then tripping on the stairs leading up the transport platform.

One of her servants caught her before she fell and helped get her straightened, only to be pushed away as she squared her shoulders. “You do not get to—”

Harry raised a glowing hand, and she stopped, closing her mouth. “I’m giving you the honor of walking up those stairs, argue with me and I’m going to throw you up them. It’s your decision. Either way, you’re going up them and they’re taking you away.”

She stared at him, her lips tight, trembling with anger. “This is not over,” she spat and walked up the steps. Once her three servants were at her side, one of the attendants in golden robes stepped to them, looked at Harry, who gave a nod, and they vanished in golden light.

Harry turned to face the crowd. “Any conscript who had talked with one of the nobles about the dungeon, you have until the roster goes up in the morning to come tell me. If you do, all you will get is a week in a cell, you, not your entire team. It means they’ll miss this week’s runs, but they won’t be completely out. I’ll even sweeten the deal and not demand that you hand over whatever they paid you for the information, because it’s not you I want to be rid of. If you don’t, once I find out, your entire team will share in your punishment.”

He paused, looking them over. Tibs expected the man to slow when his gaze passed on him, but if he noticed Tibs, he didn’t acknowledge it. “And because I expect you all think you can get away with this, I’ll remind you that the light reaches into the darkest shadows to expose the truth.”

He walked back the way they’d come without waiting for a response.

Tibs turned to Khumdar to get his thought and answer questions the clerics might have about Harry and what had transpired, but the man was gone. Tibs looked for him in the crowd, but finally decided Khumdar had left to do his own thing.

* * * * *

“So, that’s better than I thought,” Jackal said, looking at writing on the wall that had been turned into the board for the order in which the teams would go in. “We’re—”

Carina stopped his arm before he pointed at one of the names. “Tibs, where are we?”

Jackal rolled his eyes. “Is this really the time to ask him about his letters?”

Tibs began scanning the board. It was divided into nine columns with twelve lines, but only eight in each column had writing in them. Jackal had shown him both their names over previous times there had been a list so he’d be able to recognize them even when they were written slightly differently. He’d explained only scribes were able to always write the letters the same way, everyone else who knew their letters did it in a similar, but not exact, way.

“You said you taught him his name, right?” Carina asked, with only a hint of suspicion.

“Why would I look for my name?” Tibs asked when what she said made its way through the concentration of identifying the first shape of Jackal’s name.

“Did you think Jackal was going to claim the team as his own?” Mez asked.

“But he’s the leader.”

Jackal snorted. “It’s still your team, Tibs.”

“It’s our team,” Tibs stated.

“With your name attached to it,” Jackal said.

Tibs looked at the board again. He had to start over. He paused and looked at the fighter suspiciously. “It’s just my name, right?”

“It’s Tibs’s Team,” Jackal said.

“I don’t know how to make out our team on there.”

“Just find your name,” Carina said. She looked at Jackal. “You did get him to practice, right?”

“I took him to each listing, but it isn’t like there were a lot after we became a team. There was one, then we met you, and after that, the dungeon closed, and now there’s this, so he practiced as much as he could.” Jackal smiled proudly.

Tibs focused on the board. The first shape of his name was distinctive, but his wasn’t the only name with it. Then it was small. There would be a space between the two words.

He placed his finger under the fourth line with writing in the third column, then looked at it closer. The person had written the letters with a little space between them, which made counting them easier. His name had four letters in it. And the last one was what Jackal had called the snake. Before that was the pregnant woman, then the tree with the sun over it.

“This one.”

“See,” Jackal said, proudly.

“Good,” Carina said, “Do you know where that puts us in the roster?”

“How—” Tibs bit back the annoyance. Carina was trying to help him understand more. He couldn’t do that without trying things he hadn’t done before. It was like when Alistair told him what to do but not how, because working it on his own was better.

He hoped she wasn’t going to do that for the letters, because remembering what his name looked like with Jackal’s help had been hard enough.

Nine columns, with twelve lines, but only eight had names. He knew each name was a team, and that teams went in one at a time, one after the other. So they would go in fourth, and the columns had to be the days.

“On the third day, we’re going to be the fourth team to go in.” That hadn’t been as hard as he thought.

“How many teams are there in total?” she asked him.

“Those are numbers,” he protested, but she only smiled.

He looked at the board again, grumbling. “Who needs numbers anyway?” He took a breath. He knew eight, and he knew nine. If there were ten in each column, that would make it nine-zero. But there were only eight. That meant the number went down. How much? Two for each column.

How was he going to do this?

If he looked at the lines, instead of the columns, he only had to deal with adjusting by one per line. So eight lines was eight-zero. If he took one, it became seven-nine, then seven-eight, seven-six. He tapped a line for each one.

“Seven-two,” he said.

“That’s a different way of saying it,” Khumdar said.

“But he’s right,” Mez said, counting on his fingers. “I think. I was never good with those kinds of numbers.”

“Multiplications,” Carina said, “and yes, you’re right, Tibs. They have seventy-two teams spread over nine days.”

“Except six have been removed,” Khumdar said. “Three nobles and three of the conscripts.”

“Can you not call us that?” Mez asked. “We’re Runners, even if we were forced into it.”

“My apologies. Only one is before us.” The cleric tapped a name in the second column. “Someone named Geoff. Do you think they’ll move us ahead?”

“It’s only one slot on the same day,” Jackal said, “So I don’t think it matters much. We’ll just have to pay attention in case they do, don’t tell us, and then claim we lost our spot because we weren’t there.”

“Would they do that?” Khumdar asked.

“Yes,” they said at the same time.

* * * * *

“Can you even fight?” Carina asked as Jackal and Khumdar pulled bent and rusted swords out of a box on the edge of the training field. “You’re a cleric.”

“Don’t you know other clerics?” Khumdar replied, taking one and extending his arm with it, as Jackal showed him.

“Purity clerics don’t have to fight, they have the other members of their teams to protect them.”

“We’ll protect you,” Tibs said.

“I appreciate that, but Jackal is right. In the dungeon, if I cannot help the team, I will be a hindrance. I must admit that I have used guile to get out of most trouble I have found myself in until now.”

“And here you are,” Jackal said, “here anyway.”

The cleric smiled, lowering his arm. “Here I am. I do not think a sword is for me, at least not if I am going to be helpful in this next run. I am not physical.”

Jackal nodded. “So, something light. How about a knife?”

“No,” Tibs said.

“Why not?” the fighter replied. “It’s nice and light. And he can throw it if needed.”

Tibs approached. “The dungeon eats anything we throw now, remember?”

“All right, but why are you against me using a knife?” Khumdar asked.

Tibs grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Touch me.”

The cleric raised an eyebrow, and Tibs continued looking at him.

“You’re going to want to humor him, I think,” Mez said. “He’s the one who uses knives, so whatever he wants to prove is probably a good thing.”

Khumdar shrugged and reached a hand toward Tibs, but he quickly stepped aside and behind the cleric.

The man turned. “I am not sure I understand.”

“That’s because you haven’t touched me.”

“Tibs,” Jackal called, “trust me on this. It’s a lot simpler if you just ask him to bed you than—” Tibs glanced at the fighter to see Carina shaking her hand. “What was that for?”

Tibs stepped aside as Khumdar reached for him.

“Don’t you think he’s a little young for that kind of talk?”

Tibs led the cleric around their corner of the field, always staying within reach than stepping away.

He put Jackal and Carina out of his mind. There was no danger in this, but to make his point he couldn’t accidentally have Khumdar succeeding.

After ten minutes, the cleric was sweating, but he had a determined expression on his face. Tibs suspected the man understood what he was getting at, but wanted to prove him wrong. It wouldn’t happen. He was slowing down, and even with barely moving, Tibs avoided being touched. When the cleric came at him again, instead of stepping away, he stepped into the attack, still avoiding it, and pressed the tip of his index finger under the man’s jaw.

“My trainer uses a knife when he does this, but I think you understand that you’re dead now?”

Khumdar nodded, panting.

“The knife needs speed and being quick on your feet,” Tibs said, repeating Bardik’s words. “Ideally you want to strike before your enemy even knows you’re there, but the dungeon knows everything, so you have to be quick.”

“I have had my share of running,” Khumdar said, “to keep my freedom, but never quite in this manner.”

“The bow, then?” Mez offered.

Khumdar raised his hands. “Ah, no. I would not be any good with one. Like the sword, I do not have the time to gain the strength or accuracy.”

“That leaves you with your fists,” Jackal said, “but that has both of the problems Tibs’s knife and the sword have. You have to get close and you have to be strong. Not to say tough enough to take blows or quick enough to not get hit. I go the tough route, if there was any doubt.”

“No, you make that quite clear,” Carina said.

“It seems that I am relegated to being a hindrance if my element does not prove useful.”

“Catch,” someone said, and Tibs turned, knife in hand. Khumdar wasn’t quite fast enough and fumbled with what landed against his chest. In his peripheral vision, Tibs saw Mez had an arrow notched and pointed at the new arrival, Jackals was covered in earth, and leaves danced in the air around Carina.

“Do me a favor, Tibs,” Bardik said, “and tell your friends I’m inoffensive.”

“He isn’t,” Tibs said, “but he is someone I know. He’s who is teaching me how to fight with a knife.”

“By stabbing you with one?” Khumdar asked, holding a staff in his hands.

“It’s proven effective in motivating Tibs. For some odd reason, he doesn’t like getting poked or cut.”

“It’s called common sense,” Carina said.

Bardik snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

“Do you need to train me?”

Bardik smiled. “It can wait.” He pointed to the staff. “That gives you some reach, you can use it to block, and it’s light enough you won’t tire yourself. You will want to buy something better, but good luck finding someone selling them until you ask.”

“Where did you get it then?” Tibs asked.

Bardik smiled. “Oh, you know me, I had this lying around and since your friend needs it, it’ll stop cluttering my space.”

“Thank you,” Khumdar said, “but why?”

“Like to like, cleric,” Bardik said as he turned and walked away. “Like to like.”

Khumdar looked at them in confusion.

“He’s darkness too,” Tibs said. It had to be that since Bardik wasn’t a cleric.

“Do you think he’s right?” Carina asked. “Is that something you can use?”

“The better question,” Jackal said, “is if you’re allowed to use it. Seems strange to me that’s never been an option to use, there has to be a reason.”

“Rote,” Tibs said, more to himself. Bardik used a knife, so did Alistair. Every Rogue Runner, with only a few exceptions, used one. Bardik had told him it was because he didn’t have the time to train in being stronger until he’d have to go in the dungeon, and that had been true then, but it wasn’t anymore. He had the time now, if he wanted.

“What do you mean?” Carina asked.

“My teacher, Alistair, said there’s a lot the guild does because it’s always been done that way, even if they don’t remember why. I think this is like that. Rogues have knives, fighters swords, archers bows and arrows, sorcerers magic.”

“I don’t use a sword,” Jackal said.

“And I’m not much of an archer without my bow.”

Tibs nodded. “And Don’s Rogue uses a short sword instead of a knife, but you two are the exception. The box has what they train fighters with, and it’s only swords. Stories talk of adventurers with hammers, spears, and all kinds of weapons, but here they only train you with swords. Why?”

“Because it’s the best?” Carina asked.

Tibs shrugged. “Could be. It just occurred to me it was strange. Like the staff.”

“Maybe at other dungeons they train people differently,” Jackal said. “Are you going to use that?” He asked.

Khumdar tested the weight, spun, and dropped it. “I think I will. It feels more comfortable than the sword, and with it, I think I could touch Tibs.”

Tibs snorted. “No, you can’t.”

Khumdar shoved the tip of the staff in Tibs’s direction and he took off running. He waved behind him as an exasperated Carina yelled after him.