It was half past six by the time we settled down according to Cillian. Another half hour was spent scanning the walls for any secret entrances or other surprises.

  We could stay here. We have food. Shelter. I might risk everything if I push for more.

  Food and safety weren’t everything, however. Imprisonment was unacceptable.

  Is the prison real, or only in your mind? Could you live such that it wasn’t a prison?

  I could, while I was trapped, make it as least torturous as possible, but the instinct of truth could not be denied. I had friends and family to return to.

  Then my knowledge will break me free.

  Scrying Beam

  I blinked. Had those not been my thoughts? Were the whispers always my thoughts? Were my thoughts inside or outside me?

  I could chose to listen to them or not, no matter their source. They were only thoughts. I was not the drop of water, I was the current which scoured the banks.

  The walls were secure from anything which could not swim through stone. With that in mind I surrounded the entire room with my bone wall, using five tokens to make space outside my wall for the baby statue.

  Then I sat with a groan of relief and felt the wait of my lifetime slip from my shoulders. I wasn’t at the end of my journey, but I’d found a place to put up my feet and enjoy the view. I fell asleep to the calming sound of murmured conversation among friends.

  ***

  My swords were still there when I woke to the sun’s light.

  I’d slept with my spellbook by my side, ready for this possibility, and immediately put the swords through their paces.

  Ten Swords of Power: Ten invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 19,360 lbs. The swords last for an hour. All move independently following the whims of their master.

  Now that was a spell worthy of the Magi. Approaching one, at least. Not a master spell, but one a neophyte could be proud of.

  Hopefully I could preserve it before it became necessary to cast.

  I decided the best path forward to explore would be the door presumably leading to another quadrant of the pyramid, as I’d exhausted all paths leading away from the pyramid. All paths except for the one I couldn’t remember taking, but that alone was reason enough to avoid it.

  Scorch, Sword, Scintillation III

  The door was surprisingly robust, and popped free from where the wood had swollen against its frame rather than breaking as man doors did.

  The second chamber was indeed another quadrant of a massive pyramid. This one was dominated by a massive stele which stretched all the way to the ceiling. Inscribed on its surface was writing in hundreds of languages, none of which I understood. The room was eerily silent. Even the laughter of the walls was stilled here.

  I walked to the base of the stele. My dress was once more wrapped around my neck. When had I done that?

  I touched the cool metal, and the words twisted. A wall of skulls faced me. Somehow, their countenances were twisted in despair, desperation. In the centre of the stele was a depiction of that glowing glass I’d seen before, and emanating from the stele was a triangular symbol I’d not seen before: the sign whoever had built this used to represent the glass.

  The meaning was pretty clear.

  Danger.

  Do not touch.

  Flee this place.

  Above the whole image was also a series of constellations framed by the sun’s light, presumably the year the structure was made.

  A quick calculation revealed the time shown was yet to come. So that was my theory scuppered.

  I wasn’t about to flee, but at least I knew to avoid the triangular symbol. And if I was here a few thousand years later, I’d know that whatever the time was, was at hand.

  In the corner of the room was a door leading away from the central pyramid. I sent my sword into the door and the door popped open, again resisting my sword.

  The door led out into the middle of a hallway, with a door to the left and the demonic spider I’d dealt with two days prior to my right.

  Burn the last yew.

  ?Push VIII?

  Push IX

  A skeletal pig rushed in to the hallway through the same door I’d entered and cast the Push VIII spell at the same time as me.

  The spider demon was reduced to a flat sheet suspended in the air. Almost every other spider contained within was annihilated, but seven giant spiders slipped free.

  Lightning Wave

  The sun rose in affirmation of my decision to not deal with the spiders pouring forth from the demon’s corpse.

  The air rippled in a manner that made my hair stand on end, and the world seems to lean in towards the point of casting in front of me. Time and space slowed to a point; tension like a raindrop waiting to burst.

  Quick Teleport

  The echoes of destruction were still shaking the walls and ceiling when I rematerialized in the stele room.

  The hallway itself had exploded, and the aether had been robbed of air. Heat roared over me hot enough to—

  True Teleport II

  My first teleport took me through the wall into the pyramid. Once I was facing the right way, my second teleport took me to the other half of the pyramid.

  The ground was shaking here too.

  I’d stopped being able to hear.

  One of these days I’d learn my lesson when dealing with lightning.

  Regenerate II

  The ringing subsided, but I still couldn’t hear a thing. Hopefully two years of healing would be enough, at least when combined with my durability.

  Once I’d recovered my balance I wobbled my way back to the now open end of the pyramid. Like the lightning cascade on the level far above, the floor had been glazed into a strange brownish glass. Rubble and ruin was scattered thirty feet in every direction from the inception point and there was no sign of the spiders.

  Worth it.

  My sword broke the lock on the door directly ahead of me.

  The floor was tiled in a labyrinth pattern, and the right hand side of the room contained an anvil and forge in the corner. Two doors awaited me, one to my left, one to my right.

  I chose the right, as I wanted to move as far from camp as possible to cover the widest area possible.

  The lock on that door tore free easily enough as well, as all the doors to the room were made of simple wood.

  The room was a basic square, but rotated 45 degrees to the layout of the hallway leading into it and the other doors leading out. Holes were cut both into the ceiling and floor here and torture equipment of various kinds was scattered about the place.

  My stomach churned as I looked at the benches, tables, and chairs, all bedecked with straps and stains in a variety of colours, mostly brown.

  I fell back to the forge room—which, now given the proximity to the torture chamber—took on a whole new dimension. For once in their lives the warlocks had decided to be efficient.

  I pulled free my spellbook and sat down to reinforce the Ten Swords of Power.

  _ Ten Swords of Power_

  ?Ten Swords of Power?: Ten invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 19,360 lbs. The swords last for an hour. All move independently following the whims of their master.

  The forge room had three exits: Two doors and an open arch. I left the arch alone, as it headed back toward the pyramid, and instead chose the door on the opposite end of the room.

  The iron door rung like a gong when struck, and took several strikes before the lock finally twisted free from its housing. The whole thing was surprisingly well made, but my sword managed to get it open all the same.

  The dungeon howled in response and jeers met the howls. A loud whooping cough stilled some of the voices, then was drowned out by a scream. I shuddered. I’d never fear the night again so long as I could leave this place.

  The door led to a corridor which turned left and then forked both to a room straight ahead, and a path to the right.

  On the logic that stairs had been found in corridors in all cases but one so far, I peeked into the room to confirm the stairs weren’t there, and then planned to continue on down the corridor.

  Three women looked back at me, all three strangely clean and ordered for prisoners of the dungeon.

  The first was dressed in sapphire and carried with her a giant mirror. The second was dressed in black and wielded a whip. The third bore aloft a wand, as though she were a druid or magistrate, but she was dressed in grey rather than white.

  The women cried out in fear when they saw me, “The goddess has come for us! Attack sisters!”

  There was something demonic in their countenance as they charged me. Something twisted in their faces and infernal in their eyes.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Still, I had to try.

  “Halt! I only want peace.”

  Barricade

  The women didn’t hear me, or didn’t heed me. The black one lashed out with her whip, which bounced off of my barricade. The sapphire sister raised her mirror like a maul and the grey one pointed at me with her hand and murmured a word which scorched the air around her.

  I leapt to the side just in case my wall couldn’t stop it, but was rewarded with the sight of brimstone splashing against my barricade.

  An inferno would sort out the room quickly, but I was worried it might only empower whatever fiends these were who had disguised themselves as women. Instead I went for the personal approach.

  Handcannon

  Magic Swords III

  The woman with the whip and the woman with the wand both died. Then I sent my sword at the woman with the mirror. I’d aimed my sword between her shoulder blades, but as she bounced off my invisible barricade she fell, and the blade struck low, tear open an artery along her leg instead. A second strike finished her off.

  I didn’t linger. The warlocks must have drilled into Hell itself. I didn’t want to stay around for the demons dragging their souls back into damnation.

  The hallway was long, only ending after two hundred or so feet. The hallway was capped off with a stone door on the right hand side. I ducked around the corner and sent my sword to break it down.

  The sword failed.

  I could summon a stronger sword, but better to use the blade I had while I had it. The direction I travelled was more or less random now that I’d seen the length and breadth of the hall.

  It was a good plan, but something heard my knocking.

  A yellow ooze seeped out from under the door, and around its edges where it lay flush with the wall.

  Tendrils quested out, then swelled, moving the mass of the creature along in a pattern of life and death, which looked like ripples in a pond to my life sight. It was a plant of some kind, probably a slime.

  Magic Swords III didn’t come with a fireball component unlike most of my sword spells, meaning I had to summon something new to deal with the rapidly encroaching slime mold.

  Acid Pool II

  Acid poured over the slime which hissed and burned and withered black under both my life sight and my regular vision. The slime ran in every direction at once, abandoning the dead circle and unfortunately spreading out further than my acid could cover. What was more, the acid only occupied a space about half the size of my head, meaning it had used itself up on the first attack, and the split second it took to replenish itself was more time for the slime to retreat up the walls on either side of the tunnel.

  So much for that plan.

  Slime Call

  I didn’t want to use dark magic, but the pressure in my head from all the spells felt dangerous in its own way. And when else was I going to use that spell?

  Justification is the path leading toward darkness.

  Was that me or the dark magic mocking me? I couldn’t separate my thoughts anymore.

  The slime at least, was less confused, and, under the thrall of my spell, was drawing back in to my ball of acid. It reminded me of dissolving sugar, or waves lapping at a beach. Endlessly surging forward, yet never overwhelming the sand, never moving forward.

  In the case, albeit slowly, the waves of slime did end, as the entire mold threw itself into the acid. And then a bright orange mold seeped under the door and threw itself in turn. And then a pale green. Whoops. Dark magic was not so easily controlled, and it appeared even with such a tame sounding spell there was collateral damage.

  I waited the full hour until my spell ran out, and no more slimes came. Perhaps I’d stumbled on a colony, or a slime which had recently split. I was no druid nor botanist, but I’d heard they did that. Though I’d never heard of ones this large.

  The hall was now filled with a disgustingly acrid smoke, which mingled with the fungal remnants of the dead residue left behind as the slime molds had oozed their way across the ground.

  I’d changed my mind about the door during the hour of dissolving slimes. Since they’d all came from the same direction, the odds were they’d already eaten all threats in that general direction, meaning the room beyond might be safer than average. What were spells for if not to be used?

  ?Ten Swords of Power?

  The door exploded under the force of the first sword to strike it. The howls which had subsided over the past hour started anew, but I ignored them in favour of listening for anything nearby which might have been attracted to the sound.

  The room was empty of life, but not of traps. For the first time since I’d gotten the ring, my eyes made out the trip wire near the centre of the room before my ring discovered it. Something about how the sinew glinted off my shining light for a split second. I’d have not noticed it if I wasn’t looking for it.

  Probing with my ring found a bellows hooked up to a barrel of tiny, wafer thin, metal shards. I had no idea what a trap of that nature was supposed to accomplish. Maybe it wasn’t a trap at all, but some sort of automatic mechanical process.

  The room also contained a free standing arch of stone which might have provided a clue, but I couldn’t see the correlation between the two. I ran a finger along the stone of the arch. The stone was unusual, it felt smooth and rough at the same time. Heavy, somehow. Almost like it was glass instead of stone. I’d never felt nor seen anything like it.

  Without warning, the stone grew ice cold under my finger tip, and then a bright blue light rippled across the arch like water. Two figures emerged from the water, like nymphs from a pond: a young man and a young woman, both wearing black robes and bearing wands.

  More warlocks.

  The staff I’d had as a sign of my status as one of the Magi—back before I’d been captured—had been a sign of humility. The staff represented the wanderer. The one who still has everything to seek, see, and learn. The staff did not turn aside the river, merely helped the inquisitive navigate its currents.

  Wands, by contrast, were the sign of authority. Held by kings and magistrates. The represented command. The guy who has a stick can tell you what to do, because if you don’t do it, he’ll hit you with the stick. It was simple, really.

  Those who practised dark magic enjoyed the symbolism as dominion over Nature itself. It was pure hubris, but symbols mattered, and it lent them a degree of power.

  Twin pairs of cruel eyes focused on me, and before I could speak a word in my defence, both pointed their wands at me and barked words in a foreign tongue.

  My spellbook and lance both were torn by invisible force from my hands from their spells, and then by body was wracked by pain as it was bathed in red light.

  I’d left Attar behind because I was worried about his safety. I’d been vindicated by my Lightning Wave, but I was wishing he was there with me right now. I felt like I was about to pass out.

  If there was ever a time for dark magic it was now.

  Blinding Shard

  Flecks of metal shot forward from my fingers, not unlike those found hidden beneath our feet, and struck at the eyes of the two warlocks.

  The woman clasped her face in agony, but the man moved with the reflexes of a hoopstone player, and struck the shards from the air with another snarled word.

  That was fine. I’d bought enough of an opening to regain the initiative.

  ?Safe Teleport?

  I leapt across the room. I didn’t want to be anywhere nearby when my swords of power closed in.

  By the time the teleport ended, both the warlocks were dead. I half walked, half skipped over to them. The skipping was involuntary. My heart was racing and the nervous energy was finding any output it could.

  I retrieved my book before anything else. I’d felt naked without it. I needed more tattoos which could be relied on. Most people understood the power of depriving a foe of their spellbook.

  The two had little of note on their bodies. Pointed black hats for keeping off the rain (a bit silly deep the bowels of Bleak Fort), black robes which my swords had torn to pieces, their wands, which might be powerful, but I had no idea how to use, and then the contents of their pockets. The man had a second, lighter, silver cloak stuffed into his pockets. The woman had a small handbag, a bit like a coin purse.

  Both nearly overwhelmed my sorceress senses with the sheer amount of complex magic woven into them. The cloak in particular caused the black goddess within me to stir.

  I threw the cloak around my shoulders, and the room instantly dimmed. Curious, I twisted to look at my left shoulder. All light shining from my body stopped abruptly at where the cloak had been, but the cloak, the dress around my neck, had both vanished.

  I could still feel the cloak with my ring and shoulder, and still see my light underneath the cloak, but not above it. The effect was disorienting, though less so than the teleportals.

  I pulled the cloak fully over myself and crouched down onto my knees so that the hem brushed the floor all around me. The cloak was translucent, but the room beyond darkened to the point where even my eyes couldn’t penetrate the gloom. Inside the small tent offered by the cloak, however, my skin shone as bright as ever and I could see clearly.

  From the outside (as viewed by my ring) I was rendered completely invisible, pack and all, though I could still sense where the cloak stirred at the air and feel the fabric under my ghostly fingers.

  For a thief or s in normal circumstances, the cloak would be invaluable. For me in the Bleak Fort, it seemed more a curiosity. Perhaps I could wrap it about a cockatrice’s head to prevent its gaze, but I’d still have to approach the creature.

  I bundled up the cloak and stuffed it into my pack. At the very least I’d deprived the warlocks of a very deadly spy. Perhaps he had been the very one who had managed to sneak up on me and apprehend me.

  The bag would have been clearly unusual even if I didn’t have Myrra’s knowledge to draw on. For one, it clanked and rattled like a caravan when I lifted it too fast. Whatever stealth I’d gain with the cloak would be more than lost if I kept the bag. For another, my ring couldn’t see inside the bag.

  I unhitched the clasp and pulled the small bag open to look inside.

  The bag was not something which could be looked inside, it turned out. The clasp opened easily enough, and the neck of the bag offered no resistance to my questing fingers, but, as my eyes could not see inside themselves, neither could I peer into the bag. It was counter to the nature of things.

  I cautiously reached my hand into the mouth of the bag and fished around for whatever was making that rattling noise.

  The bag was empty.

  My fingers scraped the fabric all the way along the bottom of the bag without so much as finding a bead or marble. When I shook the bag it was silent.

  I recognized—Myrra recognized, to be more accurate—some of the workings on the bag. I was not the one for whom it had been made, and therefore, could not access its true contents. The bag was a safe of sorts.

  But the warlock who had crafted this bag was young. I doubted she was older than Attar. Myrra was centuries old, and knew secrets which no others had discovered.

  “Be mine.”

  Sorcery was the act of binding others to your service. A war horse would be loyal to its master, but some stable masters had a touch which could bend any beast. Myrra was the same.

  My arm disappeared up to elbow, even though the bag was only a hand and a half in depth. My fingers grabbed on to what felt like a rough canvas bundle.

  I pulled the canvas free. Somehow it fit through the mouth of the bag even though the bundle turned out to be larger than the bag itself.

  I threw the bundle on the ground and it leapt into the air like a triggered snare. Through some clever mechanisms of springs or magic an entire tent unfolded before my eyes. The tent was shabby, and only large enough for perhaps one or two people, but the canvas looked thick and oiled enough to stop wind or rain.

  I ducked inside and found myself transported to a barracks. A full room was concealed inside the tent, one tall enough to stand inside, and packed with bunk beds with trunks at their feet. A small kitchen waited at the far side of the tent on an elevated platform, and a fire burned merrily in the hearth.

  I rubbed my eyes and cast about for whatever threads of illusion or insanity I could unravel, but the room appeared as real as anything.

  Thuamaturgy.

  Myrra’s soul confirmed it for me.

  The man had caused my spellbook to leap from my hands, which did seem more in the realm of the thaumaturge than the warlock, but the woman’s ray of pain was not.

  And then I had to account for the strange portal they’d entered by. Who exactly had I unwittingly summoned? To carry with them such a treasure, a treasure which my sorcerous senses assured me was somehow lesser than the cloak, would surely require them to be high in the ranks of the warlocks. But they were both so young. Their apparent age must have itself been a working of dark magic or thaumaturgy.

  I took my nine foot pole, which was as ever strapped to my pack, and fed it through the mouth of the bag. The whole pole vanished into the depths.

  I stuck my hand in the bag and reached around. A variety of objects brushed my fingers, but the moment I thought of the pole I grasped it, and easily pulled it from the bag.

  Curious.

  I took my box of paints and makeup and deposited it in the bag. Then I called to mind a pouch of red powder for applying blush to the cheeks. I failed to call the pouch to my hand, but the whole kit came easily enough.

  This time I extracted the pouch and put it and the kit into the bag separately. Then I tried to call the pouch’s powder to hand, which failed, but the pouch came easily.

  Straightforward enough.

  I began emptying my pack piece by piece into the bag. I kept such things as my makeup box in one piece for easy distribution later, but everything else went in on its own. The pouch never increased in weight.

  A tap and a thought had the tent roll itself back into a bundle when I was outside which was a relief. I had no idea how to fold a cabinet, stove, and chest of drawers. I’d always had enough troubles with bed sheets.

  I shoved the tent back into the bag and tied the bag to my belt. Now here was a prize worthy of a hero’s journey.

  I was looking forward to the looks of astonishment on my friends faces when I showed them what I’d found. It was the duty of the Magi to shock and amaze others. After all, what else was magic for?