Granden settled back into his favorite armchair as the dungeon beneath him settled into a more contemplative mood, its energy calming like a pond after a pebble had been thrown into its depths. And what a pebble his last descendant was. Small now, yes. But not for long. He would continue to grow, gathering essence and experience, collecting power. Before long, he would be a fearsome boulder, rolling down the slope of his destiny to crush those who stood against him.

  ? He almost pitied Kett’s boy, thinking of the force that would be building against him, just out of sight. Almost. The thought of such exciting change nearly caused the dungeon to flare up around him, but he contained it to a thin smile. “Yes, that should be very good.”

  ? It was a surprise when Taron appeared from within the house, his lean whipcord frame just as graceful as the day he’d died. “What are you mumbling about now?”

  ? “Your son,” Granden replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling for the thin but distinct trickle of mana that he knew would come from the bow the boy carried. His senses returned nothing for the moment, but he knew it would resume, and quite possibly soon. He’d enjoyed the small stream from his time in the dungeon. “He’s on his way to the west now. He may be within Ironmarsh already.”

  ? A small, fierce grin appeared on his grandson’s face as he heard the news. “Good. He’ll enjoy Relvan’s hunting grounds.”

  ? Granden had to agree with that. His smile widened at Taron’s next question. “Does he know of his true bloodline?”

  ? “I’ve shared a version. It wouldn’t do to have the boy grow too powerful just now. He must know what it is to be weak before he can be handed his true strength.”

  ? That news seemed to displease Taron, who vibrated slightly, his human exterior nearly giving way to the monster within. “I’m not so sure that was the right choice. He’ll need every weapon he can use if he’s to succeed.”

  ? “Whether it is right or wrong remains to be seen,” Granden said firmly, raising a hand to forestall Taron’s next words. “It is my choice. And as neither you nor Merina can reach the boy, I remain the only one who can make such a choice.”

  ? Taron stilled then, but the unease and frustration continued to cloud his face. Not pleased, but at least compliant. “Fine. But I’ll be around when you tell Merina that you’ve left our only child in the dark.”

  ? Granden let out a wry snort of laughter. “Were she still alive to needle me, that threat may have caused some concern.”

  ? Deep beneath his feet, the dungeon quivered with indignation. *Yes, yes. I will not besmirch my descendants. There is still much work to do.* After a few seconds of continued restlessness, it finally settled, and he smiled again. Yes, so much work to do. First, he would have to make an emissary. Someone to journey out and guide the boy along his journey. That woman was good. Strong, with a sharp mind and an even sharper wit. But to truly allow him to flourish, he would need… someone more. He needed a true rival.

  —

  ? The western half of Ironmarsh was far more plain than Grim had expected. They were checked at Relvan’s gate, of course. It seemed that they were wary of anyone with ill intent–or perhaps a lack of strength–crossing through the pass. The guards here were also stronger than those at the gates of the city and carried more powerful gear. But at a quick glance, they appeared to recognize Veyra and Bolton and hurriedly stepped aside to clear the gate. Curious eyes were his only greeting as he rode under the heavy portcullis behind his new seniors.

  ? Immediately past the pass, Grim could see hundreds of single-story, squat buildings spreading out like moss on a forest floor. Smoke trickled out of primitive chimneys, but with the lack of a strong breeze from the ocean to the north, it hung in a thick pall, perhaps fifty feet over their heads. He craned his neck to follow one stream of the dark cloud and saw with some concern just how tall the mountains looked this close to. They seemed less like natural features and more like gargantuan monsters, looming threateningly over the western half of the city, as if one errant thought was all that stopped them from crashing down and annihilating everyone that lived there.

  ? “Welcome to the Lower City,” Veyra said, taking in a deep breath, as if there could be more than the smell of stale smoke and poverty. For the first time since meeting her, Grim saw the woman actually seem to relax. She leaned back on the packs attached to her saddle, arms linking behind her head, completely in her element. Bolton was quick to lean over and snatch up her horse’s bridle, making sure the beast kept moving. “Home, sweet home.”

  ? “Lower?” Grim asked, turning to look around once more. He hadn’t noticed… “The elevation hasn’t changed.”

  ? That earned a snicker from his new Captain. “They call it that because we’re the *poor* section of town. Frankly, I prefer our official nickname.”

  ? Grim waited for the name, but Veyra, after giving him a sly glance out of half-lidded eyes, promptly pretended to fall asleep and ignored him. Thankfully, Bolton humored him, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “They call it the Dungeons. Monsters do truly get into the city sometimes, and there are… rumors about the people that live here. They say we’re half monsters.”

  ? Grim nodded. He’d heard the same rumors, of course. “I can get that. But… The Dungeons? That sounds a bit grim. And why do you all live here, instead of on the eastern half, where it’s safe?”

  ? Veyra snorted, apparently forgetting her feigned sleep. When Grim glanced her way, she let out an unconvincing snore. Again, Bolton answered him. “You know what the role of an Expedition Guild is, don’t you?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  ? Grim nodded and leaned forward, determined to impress. “Yes. We survey local dungeons, mapping those that are new or have leveled up recently, and make sure that information is available to other delvers.”

  ? “Is that all?”

  ? He frowned, not sure what he’d missed out on at first. Then, remembering another fact, he hurriedly added, “We also sometimes have to act as guides and scouts for other guilds and parties. Like leading the way for a platoon or battalion.”

  ? It was a necessary job that all Expedition Guilds took on, he thought, though he’d never actually seen it in person. Platoons and Battalions, groups of delvers numbering about sixteen and one hundred twenty-eight, respectively, were typically used in larger dungeon raids, those of levels eleven and higher. Solo delvers typically enjoyed a healthy but possible challenge from levels one to five, but rarely higher. Parties were almost essential from levels six to ten.

  ? “That is all true,” Bolton said, nodding in approval. “But we in Ironmarsh fulfill another role, one that hasn’t been needed in a place like Beastwick for centuries.”

  ? “What do you think is known of the wild swamps, rivers, and lakes on the western shore? For those outside this city, it’s very little. They know only that dungeon floods are common, and that monsters all but own the land.”

  ? Grim nodded again, his heart hammering at the thought. The wilds. True monster wilds, untamed by delvers. It wasn’t a comforting thought to consider. Bolton saw the fear in his eyes and offered a reassuring grin. “The truth is that, while they are wild, we know more than you’d think. Our guild is named ‘The Ironmarsh’ Cartographers, because on top of those other responsibilities, we also keep track of safe paths and danger zones. Once you’re strong enough, we’ll be sending you out there often, to plot and measure the wilds.”

  ? “Why do we have to do that?” He asked, not entirely sure he liked the sound of it. “If a platoon is making its way to a dungeon, surely they’re strong enough to handle whatever threat they find, right?”

  ? Bolton flip-flopped his hand, his face screwed up. “Yes, and no. If they were to simply strike out on their own, without one of us to scout or the knowledge we gather, they’d run the risk of encountering a monster or pack of monsters above their level. It hasn’t happened in quite a while, but it’s not impossible for entire parties, platoons, or even battalions to go missing. That is why our scouting and cartography are important.”

  ? “Oh,” Grim said quietly. Suddenly, considering the scale of what was going to be expected of him, he felt… small. “I don’t know how to do any of that, though.”

  ? Veyra snorted again, and this time appeared to give up on her game. “You really think we’re going to just throw you in headfirst?”

  ?? “Well….” He didn’t dare finish the thought. It was, in fact, exactly what he’d expected. Veyra snorted again.

  ? “Oh, please. That nonsense won’t start until you’re at least level five. First, you’ve got to progress. There’s a reason they call levels three to five a ‘trial’ period, you know. Each guild keeps its recruits safe while they train. And you’ve got so much more than cartography to learn. Don’t you worry, we’ll keep you plenty busy.”

  ? He wanted to ask what she meant by that, but couldn’t muster the nerve as he took in her wide, feral grin. Why did she make the prospect of training and learning new skills–normally something he looked forward to–sound so daunting? He barely suppressed a shudder as he tried to focus on anything but her sharp green eyes. In desperation, he looked around for some kind of distraction. That was when he spotted it. A tall building, easily four stories, that took up a massive amount of space beside the narrow street they were plodding along.

  ? It wasn’t just tall, but broad as well. The size of a small noble’s manor house, it was a riot of color against the dull grey and brown buildings around it. What was more, it was producing a steady stream of both noise and smell. The scent of roasting meat hit his nose, tickling it and awakening his hunger, but the sound resembled the rowdiest tavern he’d ever visited. Light also poured out of the building from dozens of openings, casting enough brightness over the surrounding area that the dim light of evening faded like a distant memory.

  ? “What is that building?” he asked, pointing at the large structure with some concern. “It’s… loud.”

  ? Both Veyra and Bolton laughed then, the kind of deep, mischievous laugh that normally only the woman let out. They came to a stop in front of it, looking up to the higher floors with a fond light in their eyes.

  ? “That, young Grim,” Veyra said, dismounting smoothly from her horse and chuckling, “Is the Archives. Your new home.”

  ? Bolton was a second behind her in dismounting, though with considerably less grace. Grim clambered down from his mount as well and took a few bowlegged steps, only then noticing just how much his knees and thighs ached from the extended time in the saddle. Bolton let out a sigh below him, stretching his back until a series of deep pops erupted from within his body. He grunted in satisfaction. “Finally back. Nearly twice as long away this time. Orren won’t be happy about that.”

  ? Veyra gave a small dismissive wave as she began leading the way through a small side gate to what was obviously a stable at the far corner of the property. “Oh, please. He loves me. He can’t be too upset. And even if he is, I’ll just make it up to him tonight.”

  ? “Please, spare me mention of your degenerate plans,” Bolton said with a faint groan. “I trust you can handle his introduction to the guild just fine. And unsaddle Briar for me. There’s a beautiful woman and a happy bundle of joy I’m missing out on.”

  ? Veyra opened her mouth to retort, possibly to protest at the added work, but Bolton merely strode away, whistling some tune that Grim didn’t recognize. Veyra glared after her comrade in silence for a few minutes, shaking her head in disgust. “Always foisting his work on me, the layabout.”

  ? Grim, certain that it was quite the opposite in normal times and that this was some small revenge for Bolton, firmly–and wisely–kept his mouth shut. Veyra noticed the effort, and her glower was quickly replaced with a smirk. “Got a good head on you, don’t ya boy? That’ll suit you better than any delving skill going forward. Now come on, you’ve gotta get Bolton’s horse unsaddled before we can go in for some dinner.”

  ? Starting to feel as if he were wavering dangerously close to the role of a caddy, Grim shook his head–once he was safely behind a horse’s flank, and began unfastening its saddle after tying its lead rein to a bar. He knew a little about horses, including how to saddle and unsaddle them, from odd jobs he’d gotten to support himself through the Starter Guild. Despite her usual attitude about tedious work and her instructions, Veyra did actually help him out, which was nice. The work went quickly between the two of them, and soon they were stepping out of the stables, leaving three tired but happy horses chomping away at some oats in a trough.

  ? “Right!” she said, clapping her hands together, then rubbing them excitedly, an evil grin stealing over her face. “Let’s get you introduced to your new family, eh? It’s dinner time, and I’m sure everyone’s ready for some fresh meat!”