When Jeremy and his dwarf friends stepped onto the sixth floor, they encountered pleasant, warm, humid air carrying the scent of earth and green things.

  “This floor feels empty,” Thorg said.

  The dwarf was correct; the floor felt empty, and Jeremy's mana sight revealed far less ambient mana than the fifth floor they'd just left.

  “Stop,” Jeremy hissed. “We have a problem.”

  The dwarves stopped. “What?” Thorg asked.

  “In the adjoining passageway are seven orcs and two cloaked beings of unknown origin. They're all hiding behind a concealment spell.”

  “You can see through their spell?” Thorg asked.

  “Obviously,” Jeremy said. “Those orcs tried to kill me on the second floor. I'd hoped not to see them again. There are five orc spellcasters, a rogue, and a huge orc fighter named Rampage. He's gotten bigger and gained levels.” What made Jeremy nervous were the two cloaked beings. They resisted his attempts at identification. “I can't identify the cloaked beings. I think it's safe to say they're dangerous.”

  “Baldir's balls,” Thorg snarled. “Retreat. Get to the opposite side of the passageway. Shields up. We won't be the first to swing a weapon, but we will be the last.”

  “The orcs are talking,” Jeremy said. “They seem surprised to see us.”

  The enemy party dropped the concealing spell and became visible to the dwarves. Rampage glared at Jeremy while the other orcs talked quietly among themselves.

  “Those beings behind the orcs are drow,” Thorg said. “Only drow wear cloaks like that. Strange. What are they doing here?”

  “Drow are like elves, right?” Jeremy asked.

  “Magical elves who live in underground cities and eat way too many mushrooms. They're all crazy.”

  “Do they associate with orcs?”

  “They don't normally associate with anyone not drow. We leave them alone because they don't bother anyone, and they're dangerous if you piss them off. A drow street sweeper has more magic than most tenth-level spellcasters.”

  “That is a strange orc war party,” Brosh said. “Five spellcasters, one rogue, and only one fighter? If I weren't seeing this, I'd never believe it.”

  “That fighter is pretty big,” Thorg said. “He's higher level and has a lot of support. When they attack, I'll take the fighter and draw him away. The two of you go for the spell-casters.”

  The orc rogue stepped forward and held up a dirty white banner with a drawing of an open hand on it.

  “That banner is a call for truce and parley,” Thorg said. “I wonder what they want?”

  “Can we trust them?” Jeremy asked.

  “Trust orcs? Don't be stupid,” Thorg replied. “But they appear to want to talk before they fight. If they didn't, they'd have attacked us by now.” Thorg sheathed his sword. “I'll go see what they want. Bows out. Cover me.” He stepped forward. The orcs laughed and pointed at Jeremy. Thorg made a questioning gesture to the orcs. They pointed to Jeremy again.

  “I'm the leader. Why would they want you?”

  “I think they remember me from the second floor,” Jeremy said with a sigh. “I'll go see what they want. Cover me.”

  “Be careful. That orc rogue is female, and orcs aren't known for gender equality. A respected female orc in an orc war party will be formidable.”

  Jeremy checked her stat sheet.

  The orc Identified as

  Groma Golg

  Sex: Girl

  Child Rogue: Level 26

  She must have been the other orc fighter he'd met on the second floor. He wondered why she'd changed her class. “I guess she is female. I hadn't noticed.”

  “Female orcs have larger tusks,” Thorg said. “If things go bad, run away and get behind us.”

  Jeremy stepped forward, hand on his sword, wondering if he could take on these orcs. He was a lot stronger, but they were higher leveled than they had been on the second floor, and underestimating them would be foolish. Also, he didn't know what the drow were capable of. He stepped forward until he was a few steps away from the female orc. “What do you want?”

  The female orc, Groma, eyed Jeremy, seeming more curious than anything else. “Jeremy Wilkins. You've grown.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “It's been four years. Human children grow a bit in four years.”

  “For my party, it's been less than a year,” Groma said.

  “That's strange,” the orc didn't seem to be lying. “Are orc years longer than humans'?”

  “Most races' years are a similar length,” she responded. “But time does strange things in a dungeon. You've done well.”

  “Hardly,” Jeremy said. “Just trying to survive. I was lucky to fall in with those high-level dwarves.”

  She laughed.

  “What is so funny?”

  “You were level 13 when we met on the second floor, level 17 when you left the second floor, level 23 when you left the third floor. Yet you've somehow dropped to level 16? Since you didn't change your class, you must have passed level forty and altered your observable stat sheet. Do the dwarves know?”

  “No. And I'd rather you not tell them.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  She snorted. “As if I'd tell dwarves anything. I'm guessing you're an elite ranger. In your situation, only an idiot would take master thief or assassin.”

  Jeremy ignored the quiet snort from Flint. “Even the orcs think you're an idiot.”

  “How are Lard Lump and the gnome/goblin party? Two groups with whom I assume you've been in contact.”

  “Lard Lump hired the gnome/goblin party to get her party to the seventh floor and out of the dungeon. Our prayers are with them. They thought you'd died on the fourth floor and were upset about it.”

  “I meant them to think that. Before I say anything else, how about telling me what you're doing near the entrance of an empty dungeon floor? And why do you have drow with you?”

  “You owe me your life.”

  She didn't seem to be lying. Maybe she believed it.

  “Hardly. Your party robbed me and tried to kill me.”

  “When you threw down your black mist, I'm the orc who bumped into the others to slow them down and let you get away.”

  Jeremy rubbed the side of his face with the scar and the missing part of his ear, thanks to Rampage's axe on the second floor. “Even if what you say is true, I hardly think stopping your party from killing me constitutes saving my life. Not to mention, why would you do such a thing?”

  “If it had been up to me, we'd have taken you into our party. With your ability to find things, the other orcs and I would be several levels higher than we are now.”

  “But your party tried to kill me instead.”

  She sighed. “On my home world, a family of humans hid me from the humans who burned my village. When my brother, Rampage, emerged from his dungeon, he killed that family too.”

  “I see,” Jeremy said, surprised to find a human sympathizer among the orcs. “I have to ask, why does your party have five spellcasters, and why did you change your class to rogue?”

  “Our king is preparing for war and needs spellcasters. When this dungeon appeared in his kingdom, he selected his five smartest children to be spellcasters and drafted the toughest child fighters he could find to protect them.”

  “You're one of the toughest fighters?” Jeremy asked.

  “No. My brother, Rampage, fought the other four drafted fighters simultaneously and killed one of them. This impressed the king enough that when Rampage requested his only surviving family, that is me, join their party, the king agreed.”

  “Wow.”

  “After seeing what you were capable of, my party decided they needed a rogue, and being the weakest fighter, I was the obvious one to change her class.”

  “I see,” Jeremy said, thinking it was interesting that the orcs would try to emulate him.

  “We have no desire to kill you, but your dwarf companions have got to die. Walk away from this, and we won't hurt you.”

  Jeremy put his hand on his sword. “The dwarves are my friends.”

  “I think you'll find they're not.”

  “Why do you hate the dwarves?”

  “Many reasons. You know the father of the elf you claim to hate? Dwarves are his favorite mercenary foot soldiers. They charge a lot, but are powerful fighters. We'll be doing the universe a service by killing these three.”

  “These dwarves are not like that; they're good beings. And why is this floor empty? I'd think Banxi would be after you to leave by now.”

  “We're waiting for an elf/human party to give up on killing the sixth-floor boss and leave for the seventh floor. This will let the monsters re-spawn, so we can gain levels.”

  An ice-cold feeling clenched his belly, and his three hearts began to pound. “Mezirma and his party are here, on the sixth floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What exactly is the sixth-floor boss?”

  “Are you planning to kill Rampage or the rest of our party?”

  “Not at the moment, but that could change. What makes you think you can trust a word I say?”

  She held up her hand. Her smallest finger had a ring with a large red gem on it. “I bought this truth stone from Lard Lump. Also, the goblins, gnomes, and kobolds had a lot to say about you, and I believe you're honorable enough not to kill us without cause.”

  “What is the sixth-floor boss that the great Mezirma can't kill?”

  “A tree,” she said. “And before you laugh, it's a carnivorous tree with near-godlike powers. Apparently, Mezirma is determined to kill one of the dungeon's great bosses.”

  “And he failed with the fifth-floor boss. What a loser.”

  “I suppose you did better?”

  It was all Jeremy could do not to fall over laughing. “Look. I don't care about you orcs, drow, or even the dwarves. I care about killing Mezirma. The truth is, I became an assassin so I could kill Mezirma. Help me. Join the dwarves and me. I have a weapon that can kill him, but I need a distraction to shoot him with it. You can keep any loot he drops. I want him dead.” Jeremy was painfully aware that he'd yet to kill an adventurer, but kept this to himself.

  Her face tightened and contorted; she coughed. “Wait here. I'll ask the others.” She left and spoke quietly to the other orcs.

  “Ba ha ha ah ah!”

  Six orcs fell over laughing.

  “What's going on?” Thorg snapped. “When orcs laugh, it's not a good thing.”

  Jeremy held up his hand. “Easy, guys, we're negotiating.”

  “I'm thinking they weren't impressed by your offer.”

  She returned. “They're not interested.”

  “Why not?” Jeremy glared at her. “Help me kill him.”

  “First,” she said, “orcs don't work with dwarves. If you wonder why, ask your dwarf friends about the city of Balies. Second, we'll say you're a level 40, 41 assassin, give or take. Your superior stealth and concealment skills are worthless against those four. If Mezirma's magic doesn't find you, their elite ranger will. You've done well in this dungeon, but you're outclassed. If you want to kill yourself, go ahead, but leave us out of it.”

  “What if I could summon a hypothetical undead army? Would you join me then?”

  “They're blessed by Syritha, goddess of purity. They would annihilate your undead army.”

  “What about an army of insects?” He thought about mentioning the army of velociducks he'd gained on the first floor, but suspected this wouldn't improve his case.

  Groma sighed. “Before we arrived, two powerful parties, six drow and four rock ogres, all higher level than you, tried to take on Mezirma's party. The two drow with us are the only survivors.”

  “Sorry.”

  “As I was saying, we don't want to kill you, but the three dwarves have got to go.”

  “And I'm saying, the dwarves are with me.” Jeremy felt a prickling at the back of his mind.

  He did Identify on the two drow. This time it worked.

  Drak Tif—Sifa Tif (Mind-Linked Twins)

  Race: Drow/Drow.

  Sex: boy/boy

  Child Spell-caster Mind Mage/Child Spell-caster Mind Mage

  Level: 42/42

  The two drow adventurers seemed to be mentally linked. That was how they'd resisted his initial attempts to identify them. The prickling intensified. Much stronger than the nrawth mind mage. But nothing compared to a certain eldritch horror.

  STAY OUT OF MY HEAD! He thought at them. The prickling vanished.

  “The dwarves are with me,” Jeremy said, again, putting his hand on his sword. “If you and your mind mages don't back off, this sword goes through your ribs.”

  Groma looked at the drow. The drow seemed to shrink into their cloaks and back away.

  She held out her hand to the other orcs. Rampage glared at her and Jeremy. The rest of the orcs looked confused. She sighed and seemed to shrug. “We would pay you 3000dc to kill the dwarves.”

  “No.”

  With no warning, Rampage threw a dagger at Jeremy's face.