Dungeon Corps: Crypts of Phanos Epic Fantasy by Jaxon Reed

Dungeon Corps 

Crypts of Phanos 

by Jaxon Reed 

Genre: Epic Fantasy 

Deep under the city of Phanos, the crypts are filled with monsters. Dungeon Corps works hard to contain them.

Recruited from prisons, outcasts, misfits, those expelled from academies and even rare volunteers, Dungeon Corps produces outstanding fighters.

When an ancient threat troubles the Queen’s Land once more, a grizzled veteran leads his young team down into the depths to rescue the lost and slay a horror known as Ludge.

But two on his team hold closer ties to the monster than anyone realizes. They are elves, running from assassins tracking them relentlessly since birth.

Ludge should have died 50 years ago. Now it’s up to the team to finish the job. In doing so, they uncover startling secrets known only to a chosen few.

They discover the elves’ forbidden existence and their raw untapped power can reshape the world.

If they survive. 

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Excerpt 1:

“Careful. Watch your step.” 

Missan waved her hand gently in front of her group and ghostly runes floated in the air, suddenly visible. They formed a pattern in the narrowest part of the hall facing them, obstacle wraiths promising death for those touching them. 

Missan carefully walked between the runes, making certain her dark purple robe and hood did not touch any. 

She turned when she made it to the other side, and waited for her team. Jeffers the ranger came next, easily walking between the traps. He was followed by Deena, their archer and cleric. 

Dratchet the half-dwarf was clumsiest, for all his abilities with a battle-axe. Everyone held their breath while he worked his way laboriously through the traps. 

Finally Choster walked through, after giving a final look back at the passage they had just passed. 

Choster was a vampire, and a swordmaster. Many Dungeon Corps groups shunned his kind, but Missan and the others accepted him. He had saved them more than once with his unique set of skills

Choster jumped into high speed and blurred through the traps in the blink of an eye.

Missan said, “Someday I need you to teach me how to do that, Choster.” 

He smiled at her, fangs showing between his pale red lips. 

He said, “You know my price.” 

She shuddered involuntarily, then turned to lead the way forward as the passageway grew wider. 

Deena sidled up next to her and confided in a low voice. 

“He doesn’t take much blood. He just likes a sip to see what you taste like.” 

Missan shuddered again. She said, “Was it worth it for what he taught you?”

The other woman nodded firmly. 

“Yes. It’s a different kind of invisibility. It’s like . . . becoming a shadow. You merge into the surrounding darkness. And it’s undetectable by other mages who are on the lookout for Invisibility.”

Missan grunted in acknowledgment. The Shadow spell did sound interesting, and useful. But she really wanted Choster’s quickness spell. What did he call it? Enhanced Motion? Whatever it was, he had assured her she had the capability to learn it. All he asked in return was a taste of her blood. So far, her revulsion had kept her from acquiescing to his deal. But when he showed it off in front of her, it seemed so useful. She had to admit, she was tempted. 

They came to set of large double doors. They were at least 12 feet tall and half again as wide. Two large brass rings nestled together in the center. 

Missan and Choster exchanged glances. He raised a dark eyebrow at her, questioning. 

She said, “Wait. Let me see if I can sense anything, first.” 

Dratchet moved to her right and pulled his axe from the sling on his back. He bent his knees, crouching into a fighting position.

Choster moved to her left and held his palms out, preparing a defensive spell. Jeffers pulled out his enchanted sword, activating a group shield, while Deena stayed in the back, preparing a healing spell for all of them.

The simple act of “looking” into a room could trigger a variety of traps, alert monsters or let enemies know of their presence. 

But Missan’s group had fought together for years with the Dungeon Corps. Choster was the newest member, and he had been with them several months. The team moved smoothly, anticipating one another’s actions. 

Missan held her hands out and cast the spell while the others tensed. If whatever was behind the door could detect the spell, it might well burst through and attack. 

Missan said, “I sense . . . a large room, 1000 feet square. Tall ceiling, 30 feet high. Several corridors branching off in other directions. And in the center of the room . . . a little boy?” 

Deena frowned behind her, her protection spell forgotten. 

She said, “A little boy? Are you sure?”

Missan nodded, concentrating. She said, “He seems . . . he seems to be waiting for us. He’s looking right at the door.”

“What in the world is a little boy doing down here?” Jeffers said, turning his scarred face toward her. “Is he human? Elven?” 

“He’s human. I don’t know what he’s doing here. It doesn’t make sense. This is a newly discovered dungeon, there shouldn’t be anybody here, much less children.” 

“He’s a gheist,” Dratchet said, confidently. He set the huge axe on the floor head first, holding the handle’s end lightly. 

Missan shook her head. “I don’t sense a spirit. This is a boy. In the flesh.” 

Choster said, “I’ll go take a look.” 

Before anyone could object he turned into black mist and quickly flowed to the floor, then under the doors. 

The other four looked at one another. Dratchet picked up his axe again and the spell casters resumed preparing to cast. 

The doors opened suddenly, screeching on unoiled hinges, making them jump. Choster smiled at them, flashing his fangs. 

“Come on in. It’s safe, I think.” 

They approached the door with trepidation. Inside, in the center of the large room, a young boy of perhaps ten or eleven years of age stared at them. He wore bronze chainmail that had been made for dwarves, and carried a shield painted green with a white boss in the middle. At his side he carried a steel short sword. 

The Dungeon Corps team looked at him in astonishment. 

Jeffers said, “I did not expect him to be armed.” 

“Who are you?” Deena said. 

Missan said, “What are you doing here?”

The little boy addressed them, showing not an ounce of fear or concern. 

He said, “I’m looking for the Prince. Have you seen him?” 

Missan and Deena looked at one another in confusion. 

Missan said, “This is not one of Prince Synthan’s Children Soldiers . . . is it?”

“Can’t be,” Deena said. “That was fifty years ago.” 

“He’s a gheist,” Dratchet said.

Deena glared at him and said, “Will you quit saying that?” 

“Please,” the little boy said. “If you’ll tell me where the Prince is, I need to find my way back to him. I’m . . . I’m lost down here.” 

Missan said, “Are you looking for . . . Prince Synthan?” 

He nodded, his eyes lighting up. 

“Yes! Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?”

Everyone on the team looked troubled now, even Choster. 

Jeffers said, “Could it be a sleep spell of some kind? Kept the lad dormant down here all these years?” 

Missan said, “We’re not even near Melody. It’s 30 miles from here!” 

Choster said, “There’s a vast network of tunnels and caves underneath the sunken city of Melody. I’ve heard about it. Several teams have tried exploring parts of it. No one has ever been through it all. They say deep below, an underground river flows. It’s entirely possible this dungeon is connected with Melody Hall.” 

“That would certainly explain why he’s lost,” Deena said. “But it doesn’t account for the fact that the Children Soldiers went down into Melody Hall with the Prince five decades ago.”

Dratchet spat to one side and said, “Still say he’s a gheist.” 

“Will you shut up?”

Jeffers interrupted the brewing row between Deena and Dratchet. He said, “Somebody needs to tell him,” nodding toward the boy who remained in the middle of the room, watching them.

Missan sighed and said, “I’ll do it.” 

She walked slowly toward the room’s middle, drawing nearer to the boy. He stared at her now, giving her his full attention. She stopped a few paces away.

“Hi. Uh, yeah. So, Prince Synthan is dead. He, uh . . . he died a long time ago.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open in shock. Then his eyes narrowed to slits. 

“You’re lying.” 

“No. No, I’m not. It happened a long, long time ago. Prince Synthan was killed in Melody and—”

“No!”

The boy’s voice changed, growing deeper and echoing throughout the chamber. His body changed, too, swelling larger. White, aethereal arms sprouted out of the body, along with a monstrous head. 

Dratchet yelled, “I believe I’m owed an apology!” 

Deena said, “Shut up, Dratchet! Everyone, ready!”

“I’ve never seen a gheist like this, though,” Choster said. 

The thing attacked. Its white ghostly arms swept toward Dratchet, his axe swinging and connecting with . . . nothing. But when the long pale arms reached Dratchet’s flesh, his spirit ripped out of his body. 

Deena saw the half-dwarf’s spirit struggling to pull up, then something sucked it down to the floor. She watched in horror as his ghostly hands slipped below the surface. 

She lit up her protective dome and ducked as one of the huge white arms swung through the spell, disintegrating it. Deena jumped out of the way and nocked an arrow, loosed, then nocked and loosed another one. The arrows sailed through the aethereal form. 

She took careful aim with her third arrow and loosed it at the boy’s face. It poofed into dust before hitting him.

Missan fired Lightning at the boy, then Fireball and Radiance. Nothing happened. The aethereal figure surrounding the child seemed to soak in all the spells. 

Jeffers ran forward with his enchanted sword and swung at one of the large arms. His sword whiffed through air. The arm came back and slapped him in the chest, sucking out his spirit. His lifeless body fell to the ground.

“Choster! Nothing is working!” 

Choster heard Missan, but he was too busy flitting around the child and the aethereal form, trying to score a hit. One of the ghostly armed slapped into him, and Choster popped away like a bubble. 

Missan backed up, lobbing spell after spell into the monster. Nothing she could think to sling at him had any effect. Deena cast a protective dome around them again, but the huge arms poked through it. She cast a healing spell on Missan, even though the woman did not need one . . . yet. 

Missan said, “Go.” 

“What? I can’t leave you! At least come with me. We can run for it!” 

They retreated to the huge double doors. The little boy in chain mail advanced on them, his face snarling in hate. The giant ghostly body loomed out of him, long white arms swinging toward the women. 

“He’ll chase us. You go. I’ll give you some time.” 

Missan flung more spells at the creature. Deena opened her mouth to protest and watched as the spells were simply absorbed by . . . whatever that was. 

She turned and fled through the doors. At the chokepoint she felt very grateful that Missan’s spells still displayed the hidden runes floating in the air. She quickly but carefully weaved her way through them. Behind her she heard Missan scream . . . then silence. 

Deena stopped to catch her breath. She looked behind her and heard the boy moving out of the doors and into the corridor. 

She turned to run, then stopped to cast a message spell. 

“Dungeon Corps, this is Deena Marceaux with Sergeant Missan’s team. We have found one of the Children, but he’s a monster! He—”

She looked behind her and . . . there he stood. A little boy looking up at her. 

He said, “Boo.” 

The ghostly form sprang from the child, huge arms reaching toward her like scythes. It sucked her spirit out of her body. 

Excerpt 2:

Several blocks away, Tawny poked her head around a corner. She and her brother Toby hid in a quickly darkening alley. 

They were elves, a somewhat unusual sight in this human city. Tawny thought there might be 100 elves here, out of 15,000 or so people. The siblings stood out for other reasons, as well. 

Besides their pointy ears, they both had auburn hair. Most humans had brown hair, or some variation. Auburn, with crimson highlights, marked a stark contrast from more typical hair. 

Also they both had green eyes, which was unusual even for elves. Tawny’s sparkled with magic, a characteristic she had not yet learned to control, and people often stared at her while she walked down the street. Although, truth to tell, Tawny was unsure if they were staring at her feminine figure as much as her sparkling eyes. She looked remarkably attractive, curved in such a way at the chest and hips to excite males of all races, including elves, humans, and even dwarves. 

Toby stood out for other reasons. For one, he stood extraordinarily tall at seven and a half feet. He towered over everyone else in a room, elf or human alike. 

Also, Toby was a simpleton. He did not speak, but looked upon the world with amiable happiness, usually with a silly grin on his face. 

All told, Tawny thought, they made for lousy thieves. They stood out in a crowd, were easily identifiable, and they were both young and relatively weak. Finally, Toby would likely do something stupid to give them away. 

But Tawny was desperate. They were far from home and completely out of money. The last two nights they had spent sleeping in this alley. No one wanted to hire a pair of odd-looking elves. She and her brother had traipsed through the streets for two days asking any merchant they could find. Despite Toby’s large size and obvious utilitarian value as a common laborer, and despite her attractive figure, they could find nobody willing to give them the time of day, much less work. 

So now, in desperation, she had allowed herself to become open to the idea of using magic. They were going to steal something. If food, it would be eaten on the spot. If money, or something worth money, it would be quickly turned in for food somewhere. 

Tawny was desperate. And hungry. By the look in his eyes, Toby was hungry too, although he never complained. They rarely came across enough to fill his stomach.

She glanced at her brother again and steeled herself for the task at hand. He was her responsibility. Tonight, they would eat.

The carriage making its way down the street in the dusk of early evening looked to be just the ticket. Quietly, Tawny stretched her hands out toward the magic lights atop the poles on this isolated street and made a pulling motion. One by one, each light went out, casting the nearby area in darkness. 

“That should provide some cover, Toby. I don’t know Invisibility yet, but this should help hide us.” 

Toby grinned down at her and nodded. 

-+-

Pediford sat atop the magic carriage holding reins that went nowhere. That was the thing about magic carriages. They were controlled by reins as if pulled by horses, but no horses were present. The reins simply disappeared in the air. 

Some speculated the horses existed on the aethereal plain. Pediford had no idea if this notion was accurate or not, nor did he care.

But Pediford, the manservant for House Lackilan, had no qualms controlling a carriage via reins floating in the air. Indeed he was quite used to such extravagant displays of wealth. Dressed in fine green livery and wearing a white powdered wig, as customary for servants in the great houses, Pediford displayed the poise and confidence of an upper crust servant in Phanos society. 

Ahead of him the streetlights went out, one by one. That finagled its way through his calm exterior. He displayed his trepidation by raising a single eyebrow. 

He turned his head and spoke to the occupant in the compartment behind him. 

“Milady, it would appear we are to be set upon by bandits, forthwith.” 

“Very well,” Lady Lexa said from inside the carriage. “Be a good man and dispatch of them, won’t you?” 

“But of course, milady.” 

As the carriage slipped into the darkened portion of the street, Toby stepped out of an alley. Pediford saw a hulking shape blocking his way in the dark. 

“Oh, dear.” 

Instead of pulling on the reins to stop, Pediford continued forward. 

He shouted, “I say! You there! Move out of the way!” 

Toby hunched his shoulder and braced his legs for impact. He held out both arms, closed his eyes and looked away. The carriage drew closer. 

Pediford debated trying to go around the strange giant on the narrow darkened street, but there was little room. Besides, he thought, what if that was the bandit’s plan?

“I’m warning you! Move over! I shall not be responsible for your demise!” 

The carriage continued at a stately pace, drawing closer to Toby. 

Pediford knew the cretin would feel nothing at the front of the carriage, where horses normally would be if were not for the magic. He had experimented himself, and there was truly nothing there. But, the carriage itself would make an impact. Pediford felt determined not to halt. This was how bandits worked, after all. They lured the unsuspecting into stopping, then pounced. 

Pediford made a snapping motion with the reins and sped up just before impact. The front of the carriage slapped against Toby’s open palms, but instead of knocking him down, it pushed the giant elf back on the street. His feet slid and he grappled for a foothold, scrambling and pushing back with powerful legs. 

The carriage slowed. 

Pediford stared down in the darkness at this giant creature impeding their progress. He snapped the reins again, urging the carriage to gain speed. But Toby had a foothold now. His shoulders and arm muscles bulged and he grunted. A paving stone lifted from the pressure on it, providing him with enough leverage to push back. The carriage ground to a halt. 

Tawny cast Fleet Foot and raced from the alley. Her movements blurred and she streaked to the back of the carriage.

She climbed up to the top in a flash and reached for the boot, the chest traditionally strapped to the rear, only to find the handle locked. 

Tawny cast Open Chest and the lock clicked. She pulled it open and reached inside, grabbing a small moneybag.

“It’s true! I can’t believe it, they really do keep money in here!” 

She jumped down to the street and said, “Toby! Let’s go!” 

Toby’s eyes were squeezed shut under the strain of holding the carriage in place, but when he heard his sister he opened them and smiled. He jumped off to one side, letting the carriage start moving again with a sharp jerk. Pediford rocked back in his seat at the sudden motion. 

Tawny grabbed Toby’s arm and said, “I’ve just learned how to extend the spell on another person. Let’s go!”

Together they swished down the street, becoming a blur in the dark to Pediford. 

“I say!” 

A block away, the blur stopped.

Thump! Thump! 

Tawny and Toby lay dazed on their backs, looking up at a narrow strip of dark sky visible between the buildings. Tawny groaned in pain then turned her head to glance at her brother. He looked back, slack-jawed and thoroughly stunned. 

They heard footsteps hurrying toward them. Tawny straightened and her heart jumped in her chest. Four city guards ran up, bronze chainmail rattling.

They stopped, swords drawn, staring down at the elves. 

One of them said, “All the major intersections in the city’s center have anti-magic spells on them. It helps to stop things like Fleet Foot, Invisibility, and other tricks that thieves or robbers may use.”

A clatter over the paving stones made everyone turn and watch as the magic carriage rolled up out of the gloom. 

From the driver’s seat, Pediford yelled down, “I say! Good job, city guards!” 

One of them reached down and plucked the moneybag out of Tawny’s hands. 

He said, “Is this yours?”

The door to the carriage opened and the lady inside stepped out. The guards stared at her. One of them openly gaped. She wore a long maroon form-fitting gown, with a slit to her waist allowing one shapely leg to peek out when she walked.

Curly chestnut hair cascaded down to the small of her back. Tawny thought this lady must surely be the most beautiful human she had ever seen.

The lady studied Tawny intently, looking her up and down. Tawny stood and awkwardly brushed herself off while the guards gripped their sword hilts and puffed their chests out. She turned and gave her brother a hand up. 

Toby stood and slouched, looking very guilty while facing the guards. He towered above everybody else, even while hunched over. Tawny popped him in the side, and he straightened up, blinking. Then he turned to the lady in the maroon gown and gave her a silly grin. 

Much to Tawny’s surprise, the woman smiled back at him, after giving Toby a head to toe examination of his own. 

Finally, Lady Lexa turned to the guards, the smile growing wider on her face. 

She said, “Well, that depends. I thought I was going to be part of an exercise with new recruits for the Dungeon Corps tonight.” 

The guards blinked in surprise. So did Pediford who gave Lexa a very quizzical expression. 

One of them said, “We never heard of any such exercise, milady.” 

Lexa nodded confidently. She said, “Oh, you wouldn’t have. These things are usually kept quiet for obvious reasons. Now let’s see, how was it supposed to go? I believe the recruits were to try and stop the carriage somehow, then swipe our moneybag. Isn’t that correct, Pediford?”

The servant frowned, still staring at her with a confused look. He blinked and said, “Um. Yes?”

Lexa nodded again. “Yes. Then they were supposed to get away. However, in this last part, I believe we can all agree the recruits failed.”

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot while looking at the elves. 

Tawny did not know where the Lady was going with this, but decided to play along. She crossed her own arms and said, “We didn’t know about the intersection spells.” 

“Ha! You should be ready for anything. If you think this was bad, you should see what’s down in those dungeons.” 

Lexa raised her eyebrows at the guards, as if imploring their support. Several nodded in response. 

“Oh, yes,” one said. “The dungeons are terrible. Especially the crypts.” 

Lexa turned suddenly for the carriage. She stopped halfway to the door.

She said, “Very well. I think we’re done here. Pediford, retrieve our bag. Guards, could I please trouble you to make sure these recruits make it to Dungeon Corps? It’s not far from here, but I would hate for them to get lost in the dark. Something has happened to the lamps around here.” 

The guards straightened up, then bent at the waist knuckling their brows as Pediford closed the door behind Lexa and retrieved the bag. 

Tawny watched as the magical conveyance passed. She saw Lexa through the carriage’s windows, staring at them. Lexa gave her a smile, then the vehicle disappeared in the gloom. 

Tawny thought, What was that all about? 

As the carriage clattered away, the smiles on the guards’ faces melted. They stared hard at the elves. The one who spoke to Lexa looked up at Toby, then down at Tawny.

He said, “Are you really part of Dungeon Corps?”

Tawny said, “Uh . . . we’re trying to get in?”

He came to a decision. He said, “Alright. I’ll take you there myself. The rest of you stay and keep an eye out. Hail the Mage Hall and fetch someone out here to relight those lamps. You two, follow me. I want to see you sign the parchment.” 

Tawny looked up at Toby and gulped, nervously. Toby just smiled back, seemingly happy regardless of circumstances. 

Must be nice, Tawny thought, and not for the first time. The Creator may not have blessed Toby with much in the way of brains, but he was truly the happiest person she knew.

She said, “Come on, Toby. Let’s follow the man.” 

Excerpt 3:

Percel sat in the back of an inn’s tavern, listening to the bard strumming his lute and reciting “The Ballad of Melody Hall.” The bard, a young fellow who looked altogether too pretty for a man, Percel thought, closed his eyes and sang. 

He sings too good, too, Percel thought, taking another sip of ale. He’s altogether a feminine fella. 

Now the bard came to the end of his long song. 

And the last man died and the prince stood aside

And said, This be it for me boys, this is the place I die

And the boys said, You’re not gonna die, sire, you’re not gonna die today

But the prince moved ahead with his sword in hand and met Ludge straight away

And Ludge and the Prince fought hard that day . . . 

And the prince’s soul flew away

The prince’s soul flew away . . . 

The bard ended the song on a mournful note, and when he finally opened his eyes they glistened with unshed tears. 

Everyone stood, clapping hard and cheering, many openly crying and wiping away their own tears. But Percel remained seated, tossing back the last of his ale in the pewter mug. 

Someone passed a hat for the bard and the sound of copper and silver clinked as it went around. Percel had no doubt the lad would collect quite a bit after that song. 

He really is too good for this rundown place, Percel thought. 

Somebody shoved the hat in his face. He grunted and tossed some coppers in. 

At last he saw the tavern’s wench and he raised his mug at her. She smiled brightly and headed his way, lifting a tray of fresh drinks above her head, and above the grabbing hands and pinching fingers following her through the crowd. 

Bessa liked Percel because he kept his hands to himself and he tipped well. Her only complaint, if she had one, was the old man never smiled. Not once in all the nights she’d seen him in here. 

She finally made it to his table, with one mug of ale in reserve. She set it down in front of the old curmudgeon and took his ha’silber. He never expected change back and she dropped the coin in her purse gratefully. 

“Isn’t Meener great, Percel?”

When Percel spoke it was low. But his voice was so deep it carried through the crowd’s noise easily. 

“Meener. An odd name for a bard. But, yes he’s good. Too good for the likes of this place. Doubt you’ll have him again tomorrow night.” 

Bessa laughed as if he were joking. The old man with the scarred face never laughed, though. He met her eye steadily and took a sip from the new mug. 

“Well, I must say his recitation of the Ballad of Melody Hall was just wonderful. He should make plenty from that one alone, even if we’re not the finest inn in the city.” 

Percel grunted. “A passable job. I’ve heard better. Heard worse, too.” 

Bessa sighed, setting the tray down and leaning over the table, happy to duck away from the rest of the inn’s patrons for a moment. 

“How I wish I could have been there with the Children Soldiers, watching the Prince fight like that against Ludge!” 

Percel grunted again, taking another sip of beer. “It wasn’t anything to be proud of. We watched him die, same as the others. Only a few of us made it out to tell the tale.” 

Bessa’s head jerked up in surprise. 

“You were there? You fought with Prince Synthan in Melody?” 

She could not keep an incredulous tone from creeping into her voice.

Percel nodded with neither modesty nor pride. He spoke in a matter of fact tone, his low voice rumbling. 

“I fought as a Child Soldier in service of the Crown. I accompanied Prince Synthan in his efforts to clear Melody, and watched as he died fighting the monster Ludge. I was one of only four to survive that dungeon run.”

He took a long swig of ale. When he pulled the mug down from his face, Bessa stood staring at him with her mouth open. His eyebrows went up as he glanced around, but no one else had heard his announcement in all the hubbub of the busy inn. 

“That’s . . . that’s great, Percel! Is the song right? Did the Prince do all those things?”

Percel shrugged. “It’s mostly right. Pretty boy there took some liberties. But yes, we fought hard. And yes, Ludge killed Synthan in the end. It’s essentially correct.” 

Bessa looked at the scars on his face, the obvious marks left by swords and knives, the portion of his right earlobe that was missing . . . 

Everything about the old man suddenly took on new meaning. 

She lost her train of thought when somebody came up behind her and slapped her bottom, hard.

She jumped in shock and pain, and the big man behind her guffawed. 

“Come on, Bessa-bitch! Ya done talked with this geezer long enough. Give us some ale. And gimme a kiss.”

He puckered his lips and leaned down toward her face, reeking of drink. She put both hands on his chest and said, “Ew. No, get away!” 

“Come on Bessa! You know you wants to get it on with me!” 

He made some thrusting motions with his waist and several of his friends at a table nearby cheered, raising their mugs. 

“Leave her alone.” 

The big man glanced bleary eyed over at Percel and chuckled again. 

“Leave the women for us young ’uns, old man.” 

He turned back to Bessa. She pinched her nose as he breathed in her face. 

“I can satisfy a woman like you.” 

She slapped his hand down as he reached for her chest. 

A spark of anger glimmered in the drunk’s eyes. 

“I want ale, bitch! Then I want you.” 

“I said, leave her alone.” 

Percel pushed his chair back and stood, still holding the mug. 

The big man turned his head and stared down at Percel. He looked surprised the old man was not taller. 

He chuckled drunkenly again. “You want some of this?”

He stood straight, his full size expanding like a sail filling with wind. Bessa backed away, hand covering her mouth. 

All the tavern’s patrons turned and saw the genesis of a fight. They stood and crowded around, forming a half circle. Everyone looked ready for the next round of entertainment now that the bard had finished singing. 

The big man’s friends stood up from their table, three of them. One swayed heavily. The other two stared at Percel with ale-blurred eyes. 

Percel moved his chair and stepped around the table. Despite having several mugs himself, he did not sway and his eyes were clear. 

He looked up at the big drunken oaf staring down at him . . .

Percel’s hand flew out and he punched the drunk with his mug. It happened so fast his hand looked like a blur. The big man’s eyes went to the back of his head as his jaw split open, and he collapsed backward in a heap. 

His three companions moved as one from their table. They rushed Percel, fists swinging. He threw a chair at the first one, kicked the second in the stomach, and threw a roundhouse punch with the mug at the third.

The crowd stepped back in silence. The violence happened so quickly and unexpectedly from an old, scarred-up man no one thought could fight. Everyone looked at the moaning and bloody drunks on the floor, then to Percel and back. 

“Step aside, step aside,” a city guard made his way through the crowd. 

“No fighting, no fighting allowed. Who’s fighting?” 

Everyone in the crowd pointed at Percel, who set the bent up mug back on the table. 

“I was merely defending myself, and the honor of the lady of this establishment.” 

A few in the crowd cast perplexed looks at Bessa. 

Someone said, “He talking about her?”

The guard said, “Well, be that as it may, sirrah, I see four men on the floor and everyone pointing at you. Let’s go spend the night in the city clink, eh? Sleep off that ale and talk with the magistrate in the morning.” 

“And let the magistrate fine me several silver or work it off? No thanks. You can take these drunks to the holding cells, instead.” 

“Well, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in the matter, sirrah.” 

The guard puffed his chest and rested his hand on the short sword at his belt. Percel glanced down at the weapon and did not appear impressed. 

At the inn’s entrance he heard a commotion as several more guards made their way inside. 

A captain pushed his way through the crowd, the red plume on his bronze helm dancing as if it had a life of its own. 

He said, “What’s going on? What’s happening here?”

Before the first guard had a chance to respond, Percel said, “I was on my way to the Dungeon Corps building when I stopped in for a pint and to hear this new bard they have, when these cretins accosted me.” 

The guard said, “Now wait a minute! That’s not exactly—”

“Shut it, Joothin,” the captain said. “This man be with the Dungeon Corps. Have you your badge, sir?”

“Aye, I’ve got it here somewhere.” Percel reached under his belt to a rarely used pocket and pulled out a bronze medallion. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and showed it to the captain. The Dungeon Corps crest showed plainly in the light. 

“Very well,” the captain said. “Let the man be on his way.” 

Joothin’s eyes narrowed as the crowd parted to let Percel through. 

“Just a minute, old timer. I’ll accompany you to Dungeon Corps. We certainly wouldn’t want you to get ‘accosted’ again on the way.” 

Jaxon Reed is a science fiction and fantasy author. Amazon's Kindle Press selected his book, The Empathic Detective: A Mystery Thriller, for publication through Kindle Scout. Recently, Ghostsuit: An Empathic Detective Novel also won a contract through Kindle Scout. 

Other recent books include Thieves and Wizards, an epic fantasy, and The Redwood Trilogy Box Set, a science fiction bundle. 

Jaxon is an Aggie, living in Texas on a ranch with his wife and boys, several cats, and one pound dog. 

To receive the latest updates on new releases and opportunities for free reader exclusives, please visit www.jaxonreed.com/free/

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