Page 104 of The Dungeon Book

And there, towering over the rest of the mob, bellowing wildly in the Dungeon Tongue, was the horned minotaur.

In his arms he cradled a precious bundle, wrapped in rags.

All was cacophony and chaos, a writhing gibbering howling mass of wild magic and things with teeth. It seemed as though all the Denizens were there, and some no doubt thought it was a mercy that such things are normally cloaked in darkness under stone. Swiftly this procession slithered and trampled and scuttled and flew through the town, then proceeded up the road that leads through the woods to the mountain and then down, down, down in the Dungeon.

The cacophony faded into echoes. Silence crept back across the surface land with the fall of night.

A single light was kindled in a high window of the keep.

The rebels crept into the castle, fearful as mice.

No, fearful as adventurers on the threshold. They had seen a host of monsters march out of Dunshelm; indeed, the courtyard was still awash in troll dung and blood and other gory horrors.

Nala awaited them there. She bore a borrowed sword in one bandaged hand; the other was occupied holding her skirt clear of the troll dung.

She threw down the sword.

“I’ve been instructed to ask for peace,” she declared, “on behalf of the royal forces.”

“Where’s the king?” demanded one of the rebel barons.

“King Arus is dead. So is Chancellor Orphir,” said Nala. “But the Princess Aldebara awaits you in the great hall to discuss terms.”

Only you didn’t, of course.

We took you with us, down in the dark.

You did not fall ill because of a flaw in your creation.

You did not fall ill because you lacked something from Bait. You are whole in yourself. She said to tell you that.

You fell ill because you are a changeling, a Denizen. Like us, you are a creature of wild magic, of the old magic, of the forgotten lands below. You must dwell in the Dungeon – for a while, at least. When your strength recovers, maybe you’ll go back above.

Bait knew. She carried you down from the keep and laid your unconscious body down on the last step.

From my perch, I watched the minotaur tower over Bait. He looked down at her, as if seeing her for the first time.

“I remember,” he said, his voice a subterranean rumble, “the dragon’s lair. You rescued me, asked for my help . . .”

“You didn’t know me.” Bait’s face was as still as a mask – and, like everyone else, she was caked in dust and gore – but I knew her well enough to hear the doubt in her voice.

“No. I knew you, I think.” He snorted. “It is hard to remember, but I was angry . . . that you had spurned the light. That my quest was in vain.”

“I wasn’t ready to go—” she began, but the minotaur fell to one knee before her.

“My quest . . . was not yours. I should have . . . I should not have . . .” He shook his head in frustration, and bits of tower fell from his matted hair. “Forgive me,’ he said.

“You weren’t yourself,” she said. “Nothing to forgive.” She embraced him, her arms encircling no more than a third of his bull neck.

“I was to be your champion and defend you against all dangers,” he said, half to himself. “I was to bring you home.”

“I’m coming home,” said Bait, “but not yet. You’ve got to be her champion now.”

“And who will protect you in the realms above?”

“I don’t need protecting as much as you think. I’m not a child any more. And I have friends above, too.”

He snorted. “Cornelius tells me I am made anew. So, if I am a new man, let me swear again: should you ever need me, send word, and above or below I’ll come to thee.”