Ralph nodded as the priest stretched and yawned. It was Alaxon’s turn to watch, so Ralph took the bed.
As much as his mother had taught him to be a good person, she had also instructed him to take opportunities whenever they came. Once the priest had instilled in Ralph all the information and training he needed, then he would take the egg.
As sleepiness washed over him, he could hear the old priest muttering.
“Zagorath . . .”
Ralph awoke to pressure against his throat, and sharp pain when he attempted to sit up. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the light of twin-moons through the window illuminated the sloped forehead, jutted jaw, and white tusks of a half-orc. The intruder pressed a curved dagger against Ralph’s throat, another half-orc holding the point of a dirk to Alaxon’s jugular.
“Sorry, lad,” the priest managed to say. “Thought I could catch a few winks.”
Frustration boiled in Ralph’s stomach, but this wasn’t the time to take it out on the priest. Three more half-orcs were standing around the room, weapons drawn as they peered down at the priest and the stableboy.
Still confident from his unanimous victory over the infernal creatures, Ralph sneered at the half-orc. “What do you want?”
“Just some flesh.”
Ralph considered how best to get out of the situation, and his right hand reached beneath the bed and touched the Dark Reaper. Power entered his body as soon as his fingers touched the weapon’s pommel, but he stopped short of drawing it when Alaxon groaned.
“Do not be a fool, boy,” the priest said. “These are adventurers. They have powers like you. You might have thought yourself strong by defeating those lesser creatures, but these half-orcs won’t prove so easy to subdue.”
Ralph released his hand from the sword.
“The old man knows his shit,” the half-orc above Ralph barked. “Don’t be trying nothing.”
“I am a priest of Lilith,” Alaxon continued.
“A priest?” a half-orc asked, and his tone carried a sense of awe. “You wield magic?”
“Indeed,” Alaxon confirmed. “Infernal magic beyond anything you can imagine. We are bound for Zagorath. With my magic, clearing the dungeon should prove a simple task.”
“Zagorath? You know of it?”
“Maybe he is a magic man,” a half-orc said to the others. “How else would he have learned of the dungeon? He couldn’t have learned like we did. He couldn’t have spoken to the Beastmaster who communicates with chained varidu.”
Another half-orc nodded. “Aye. He could be useful inside Zagorath,”
“We can help,” Ralph said. He doubted Alaxon could actually wield magic, but an alliance with these half-orcs was the only way they would leave here alive.
The barbarian above Ralph grunted and removed his blade. Ralph took in a deep breath, grabbed the Dark Reaper, and stood slowly. The half-orcs filtered out of the grotto, and the stableboy and the priest followed behind them. The barbarian group introduced themselves as The Scalpers, a clan of half-orcs that lived on the southern side of Shadow Crag. They were warriors who plundered the caves of the mountain for loot.
The small party soon joined a much larger one further up the mountain, and Ralph and Alaxon managed to trail behind them for most of the journey. The other stragglers among the half-orcs, those disdained by the larger group for whatever reason, soon opened up to the old priest and the stableboy-turned-warrior. They showed fascination at Ralph and Alaxon, and their stares made him uncomfortable, more so when they licked their lips as though lusting after the taste of his flesh.
As they walked to the top of the peak, Ralph worried what would happen when the barbarians discovered the priest actually possessed no powers. Well, maybe Alaxon had been holding out; he had seemed to predict that the dungeon had been established on top of the mountain, and that had proved true. Or he might have discovered the dungeon’s existence by other, less supernatural, means.
Ralph asked Alaxon plainly about this as they ventured up the mountain, and the priest eyed the barbarians before answering in a whisper.
“I stumbled upon the goddess, Lilith. It was quite the sight, something I never thought I would ever see in all my days. She was consorting with one of her high priests, the last who still practice her faith.”
“So, you’re not a priest of Lilith?”
“No. These robes I wear belonged to that same priest.”
“You killed him?”
“He attacked me first,” Alaxon said with a snort. “It was self-defense.”
Alaxon hadn’t seemed all that powerful, but he’d managed to take down a priest of Lilith. If the goddess’s power was truly waning as the rumors suggested, then maybe one of her servants wouldn’t have been that hard to kill.
“So, you learned about the dungeon by eavesdropping?” Ralph asked. Alaxon was a murderer—he had admitted as much when he recounted his interactions with Lilith and her priest. The fact only further cemented Ralph’s goal to take the egg. Stealing from a murderer wasn’t evil; it was virtuous.
“Indeed,” Alaxon confirmed. “Lilith and her priest conversed together about a plan to restore her power. The dark goddess wished to bring another dungeon core into existence, against the wishes of the pantheon. The other gods weren’t to know of this, but I assume they will learn soon enough. This dungeon will become powerful, my boy, mark my words. Lilith was the one who foresaw it. She knew the name the dungeon would take before she ever created it. Zagorath.”
“It is a mighty name, I admit, but I’ll grow powerful enough to defeat it.”
“Ah, I forget how little anyone knows of dungeon lore these days,” Alaxon said. “So much has been lost. It is a pity. But I will enlighten you, my boy. Dungeons can never truly be defeated. At least, not by adventurers.”
Alaxon paused and seemed to absentmindedly pat the pouch at his waist. Ralph had never noticed it before, but the priest was constantly touching the pouch with the egg
