NATHAN

Amaranth Manor looked worse for wear. It had rained on and off while Sophia and I had been in the Capital. The additional storms had damaged the mansion even more. The roof above the living room had caved in completely.

The massive tree sticking out of the front of the house was a decomposing behemoth. The trunk where lightning had struck it was split open like a wound and burnt nearly all the way through. The wet bark was peeling, and parts of the tree had turned black.

Stepping over debris left by the storm, which for some reason included dining room chairs, two vases, and a quilt. It made me wonder if the mansion had been looted by those looking to make a quick dollar even if it meant risking their sorry lives.

The only person who could inventory the items in the house was Sophia. However, I didn’t want her near this place, especially with her weak constitution.

The front door hung off its hinges, slanting to the left like a drunkard. I pushed it open and whatever had kept it clinging to the doorframe gave way. The door crashed to the porch.

"That bodes well," muttered Hune. "We’ll be lucky if this place doesn’t fall down on us."

"Take heart, Mr. Hune," said Scanderoon. "I’m sure we’ll be fine."

Though I didn’t say so, I agreed with Hune. This mansion was a death trap, and we were walking into it of our own accord.

We entered the empty foyer, our feet sliding on the muddy marble floor. We stopped to examine our surroundings.

"There’s mold everywhere," said Scanderoon. He pulled out a pink handkerchief and put it to his nose and mouth. "It stinks."

"I don’t think anything is salvageable," said Hune. "Too much has been destroyed by water and mold."

"The upper floors might be all right," I said.

"I wouldn’t use anything that’s been in this cesspool. You’ll risk getting sick," said Scanderoon. "This kind of mold can get in your lungs and suffocate you to death."

"Let’s not stick around then," I said. We headed down the hallway and into the kitchen.

"Tilda said the larder floor had caved in, and she discovered the stairs to the basement. Well, dungeon."

"Dungeon?" Scanderoon pushed his glasses to the tip of his nose and looked at me askance. "What do you mean?"

"It appears the Willowmarches had a thing for torture," I said. "But who or why, I have no idea."

"The Willowmarches are stains on the underwear of society," said Scanderoon. "The kind that will never wash out."

"I found the stairs," called out Hune, who had taken two steps into the larder. "It smells awful. Like someone roasting barbecued shit."

"Disgusting," said Scanderoon. "We need masks of some sort. Not only because of the mold, but because decomposing bodies are all-you-can buffets for a variety of little critters."

I knew this to be true because of my own experience with battles along the Northern Realm’s borders. Dead bodies accumulated insects at a nasty pace not to mention enticing wildlife to come have a bite.

Scanderoon tied the pink handkerchief around his head. Then he drew out a white one and a blue one, handing one to me and to Hune. "Some protection against the vagaries of the dead is better than none."

I tied the white cloth around my head and watched as Hune did the same.

"We need a light to see down into the murky depths of that hellhole," said Scanderoon. He pulled out a crytal orb about the size of an orange. He tapped the top of it twice, and a bright white light emitted from it. "I can also change the colors, but I don’t think we need a disco theme right now."

"What’s a disco?" I asked.

"Something this world doesn’t have, although if it did this place would be a lot less boring." He moved his hips around. "Lights. Music. Gyrating bodies. Groovy drugs." He shook his head. "Alas, that’s not a place you will be able to enjoy, Duke. It will never come to be in the Northern Realm."

I had done enough exchanges with Scanderoon to be impressed by the type of wares he had to offer. But as impressive as he was, there was always another surprise awaiting me. "Are you willing to sell that light?"

"Not only your life. It’s the only one I have. Quite frankly, I end up in more dark places than you would think. It’s come in handy far too often for me to give it up." He put the orb out in front him. "Onward, dear fellows."

Scanderoon wouldn’t relinquish his light, so he went first down the stairs. "This is the worst smell I have had the displeasure of smelling. I wish I didn’t have a nose."

The further down the stairs we went, the worse the smell. The light was enough to reveal the manacles embedded in the walls, a table full of torture instruments, and two dog cages.

Scanderoon tapped the light once and it glowed brighter, revealing the full horror of the place.

"Is that a rack?" asked Hune in disgust. "There are two stocks next to it."

The Scanderoon stopped by a sarcophagus standing in a vertical position. It was slightly opened, enough to see the spikes jutting from the inside. "An iron maiden? Did they actually use this? I thought it was a myth."

"Those reddish stains on the pointy ends say different," I said, as I joined him. He pushed the door wider, revealing the full horror of what was inside. "So much blood has stained the spikes. I wonder which poor bastards met their ends in there?"

"Well, if anyone around Velvetleaf has gone missing in the last twenty years, they might’ve met their ends here."

"That’s a depressing thought. What the hell where the Willowmarches up to?"

"I guess the family that slays together stays together," said Scanderoon.

"Your Grace!" yelled Hune from across the dungeon. I could barely make him out in the shadowy recesses. "I found the bodies."