Tree Dungeon

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by Andrew Karevik


  We needed two things for this plan to work. The first was a steady source of meat, so that the goblins and the carnivorous creatures could survive and thrive. If no adventurers were captured or killed, the monsters would have nothing to eat and would thus starve to death. I decided that creating our own farm would solve that issue. I had tremendous power within my own body; I could even generate sunlight if I so chose. This would allow us to raise cattle and other livestock for the purpose of feeding the population within the dungeon.

  The second thing necessary was access to spells for monster creation. My magic was vast, but I had not the powers or knowledge required to create or summon other beasts. This would pose to be a very steep challenge indeed. If I were to be able to do this, I would need more essence. But the question was: how does one get it? Ehdrid had no ideas on such a thing. It would be up to me to figure out how to gain the right kind of essence.

  The answer came to me one day while watching a particular goblin sing loud songs that spurred his comrades on. The words he sang were coated in magic, meant to touch the ears and hearts of his companions. He could achieve many effects with this tune, amplifying his voice, making people laugh and even getting construction tools to animate and dance to his lyrics. Ehdrid informed me that he was a bard, a liar and a fool whose entire purpose in the tribe was to mock, to tell tall tales and to inspire.

  Tall tales. The few adventurers who had arrived in the last few years had been searching for the Staff. When I killed them or chased them away, no one else came. This must be because more adventurers did not know about the rare prize I held. But what if there was some other reason for them to come to me? What if there were a story, so tempting and beguiling, that it could draw the exact type of essence I needed?

  I spoke with the bard, Immix, directly. He was surprised when he found out that I was alive and endowed with reason. In his mind, he had believed that Ehdrid had just made all of this stuff up and was just having one big laugh at the tribe’s expense. Such fantastical thinking. But I supposed that is what a bard is supposed to think.

  I told him of my desire, to draw more people to me, but only those who had access to summoning magic. I asked him what I should do. And with that, he boldly began to lecture me on the temperature of their living quarters. “Too warm!” he shouted, while strumming his harp, “too warm and too hot! I can’t even think with how warm it is.”

  It was amusing to find that this little goblin thought that he could bargain with me. That instead of seeking to aid the very roof over his head, he sought to improve a part of his own life immediately. I ended up giving in to his demand, simply because of how outrageous his request was. Any other goblin would have instantly served my will, but he was different. And I think, truly, he was what I needed.

  After I finished using efficient winds of magic to lower the temperature, he suddenly had a “flash of inspiration.” We needed to create a Book of Names, containing various descriptions of powerful entities to summon. And then, Immix would go out and spread the word to every tavern in Yehan that the Book of Names had finally been found. He assured me that this would work, as adventurers didn’t need to know the backstory about a magical item, just that it exists.

  Yet while the deception was appealing, I grew perplexed. These men and women who would arrive at my dungeon would be slain by me. But they weren’t fighting over something real, rather it would just be a falsehood. A lie. Those who were brave and strong enough would end up holding a fake book in their hands. Was I a trickster like Immix? A liar? No. Those who were able to pass all my tests were worthy of a reward, that much was true. We could not simply lure in adventurers on a false pretense.

  I asked Ehdrid to have the goblins craft a simple charm, a metal trinket that could be tied to anything. The trinket would bear my likeness, or at least the likeness that I was seeking: a giant tree, with branches extending into the heavens.

  Once they finished this charm, I imbued it with my magic, granting it a powerful boon. Those who tied this charm to a book would be able to recall any word written in that tome.

  This artifact, I named the Charm of Recollection, would be the treasure that Immix spoke about. He would talk loudly and excitedly about how any mage or summoner would do well to possess such an item. It would draw in a wide variety of spellcasters, I knew, but eventually I would get the type that I was looking for. Best of all, I would still have my honor. For those who were worthy, those who were strong enough to overcome my traps, would be given the prize. And besides, I could easily just make another one.

  Chapter 8

  Immix was gone for six weeks. I barely noticed the passage of time, of course, as weeks are like seconds to me. But Ehdrid, on the other hand, was quite frustrated with his subordinate’s absence. “He’s never coming back!” Ehdrid would bemoan to me in the mornings that we would speak about construction needs. “He took enough gold to die of old age while living in a tavern!”

  I had no fear of Immix abandoning us. Namely, because the thought had not crossed my mind, but also because I knew the scamp could not pass up the opportunity to force me to praise him. Should his plan work, I would be required to acknowledge him in some way and that was what drove the goblin forward. He craved praise as if it were strong drink.

  My mind was not on Immix at the moment anyway. There were more important matters to consider. We needed livestock, specifically, cattle that could survive living underground. For as many resources and materials we had, I had no ownership of currency like gold. What little the goblins had accumulated had been given to Immix. We could not just send out an emissary with a bag full of money and have him place an order for the animals we needed.

  I must admit, I looked more than a few times at the treasure that the necromancer had placed in my vaults. The adventurers had managed to steal quite a bit of his stuff already, but I found that they almost always left the large quantities of gold behind. Why? Simply because gold was big, numerous and heavy. They had no means of transporting it anywhere. They often opted for the rubies and gems, snatching anything that was small but of great value.

  Would the necromancer be upset if I took his gold? Was it theft? I pondered these questions long and hard, until I realized that my sacred duties were to protect his treasure, no matter what. I could not honorably take what did not belong to me. I had made an oath, a sacred deal to protect what he owned. In the world of my Great Mother, breaking an oath was the greatest crime that could be committed. One must always stand by their tribe, for it is us against the rest of the world. If betrayal came from within, we would fall apart. I could not break my word, no matter how alluring it was in the moment.

  So we would need to wait until more adventurers arrived with treasure for us to take from them. Even then, most of the time, the adventurers would leave their gold somewhere safe on these expeditions, for fear of losing their wealth to death. Surely, the magical items were of value, but how would we sell them?

  Ehdrid could not find an answer either. Goblins were not welcome in human or elven societies, so an emissary with plenty of magical items in his possession would undoubtedly be murdered and robbed on sight. A goblin like Immix could get away with navigating society as he was, by nature, used to people trying to hurt him because of his constant mouthing off. The others were not like Immix or Ehdrid. They were normal people, just trying to survive in this harsh world.

  I thought back, to the knowledge of my Mother Tree. The world that she had inhabited was a place of bravery and boldness. Strength, courage and heroic deeds were held up as virtuous. And the strong were those who were able to do what was necessary to survive. And so, with that in mind, I began to organize the goblins for a cattle raid. There was nothing wrong with taking from other tribes, especially if they were not allies or friends, not when it was a matter of survival.

  The plan was simple. The goblins, being small and used to hiding, would scout out and find a territory where a few cows could be led away. Swine too, i
f possible. Then, in the dead of night, a warband would go out and steal the livestock and lead them back to me. It would be dangerous and risky, but if they succeeded, we would have a new supply of food.

  Ehdrid had a list of reservations about the plan, but I told him that this was not up for discussion. He would select the smartest and most cunning warriors in the tribe and prepare them for the raid. We needed to do what was necessary to survive. Begrudgingly, he agreed. They began to ready themselves.

  The target was a small village that was in the epicenter of the Forest. This village, called Evertin, was responsible for raising livestock to be transported to the big city for slaughter and distribution. They had cleared most of the forest to make room for their cows to graze and had built a wall around the grazing lands—to ensure none of the Kria from the north came and stole from them.

  But whereas the Kria were ruthless but not particularly cunning, the goblins were much smarter. Rather than break open the gate, they simply created their own special doors in the wooden walls, working in secret to saw open passageways that were hidden from the eye during the day. They made a gate large enough for the cattle to be led out of and, when the time was right, they pulled off quite the raid.

  The long ceasefire between the Kria and the Elven-Human Alliance had made the farmers of Evertin lazy and unconcerned with security. The night of the raid would change that, but it would be too late. The goblin warriors were able to steal twelve cows and twenty pigs within a single night. That would be more than enough for us.

  Ehdrid’s shaman magic would allow for him to bless the mothers, so that they were able to have many, many children. We would have a fully operational farm within a few short months. The sunlight I created and the grass that I grew would keep them happy and alive. In turn, they would feed and provide for my goblin tribe. All in all, it would work well.

  That was, until the next morning, when a band of lawmen arrived at my mouth. They were heavily armed and wore the clothes of the Guard of Oregmyer. Five of them had shown up, led by a tall, burly man with a thick mustache. The goblins had not thought to cover up the tracks, and so led the investigators straight to me.

  “This is the place,” the Constable said as he looked around. “Giant tree, huh?”

  “Looks like a dungeon, sir,” one of his subordinates said.

  “A dungeon?” the Constable repeated. “Head back to Oregmyer and rustle up an army. We’re going to clear this place out.”

  “Aye, sir!” a guard said as he climbed atop his horse and hastily made a departure from the rest of the group.

  “Set up camp here, but let’s not go in there, yet,” the Constable ordered as he pointed at a spot to begin building a camp. “Damn dungeon detail. Worst part of the job,” he mumbled as he began to work on unpacking supplies from his horse.

  I was at a loss here. It was one thing for an adventurer to enter my dungeon, because he was searching for a means of gaining wealth. His goals, by default, weren’t particularly destructive. This would be different. These people weren’t here to try their hand at improving their status. I had made the mistake of showing that I was a threat to the city, and as such they would try to destroy me from the inside out. I did not believe that I was ready to handle an entire army just yet.

  What was the right move here? If I were to attack them, use my magic to bring harm to them, they may simply escalate. I ignored how many humans lived in the city of Oregmyer, but I did know that they must be numerous. Killing these four would be like swatting away a few bees, only for more to swarm out of the hive. Perhaps reason then? That would be my only chance of swaying them.

  But why should I speak to them myself? No. I would not try and beg for my life. Rather, I would have to find some messenger. Someone who would speak on my behalf. The goblins were out, obviously, for they would simply be massacred on sight by the humans. No, I had a better choice.

  The priestesses were in my line of sight, for as I grew taller and taller, so did my vision of the world around me expand. I could see their temple, now bigger thanks to numerous donations by adventurers who were all too happy to be brought back to life after dying within me. I could spot a young priestess, no more than twenty years old, struggling to find her place in this order. She was unskilled with healing, bad with memorization and could barely even focus on her prayers. I would watch them all in the garden in the evenings, as they prayed for new spells, and would notice that divine energy rarely came to her. She would be ideal to reach out to.

  That night, while they were out in the garden, speaking to Agara to gain access to powerful divine magic, I reached out to her.

  “Child,” I said. “Do you understand me?”

  “I hear you in my head,” she replied. “Are you Agara?”

  “I am not. But before we speak further, you must swear secrecy to me. That you will not tell your Order that you alone have been gifted with my words.”

  “Sure,” she said. The words traveled between our minds seamlessly, but I was a little surprised at how quickly she agreed to my terms. Perhaps her loyalties to the order were as weak as her healing magic. “I swear secrecy to you, on Agara’s Broken Wounds.”

  “I am the spirit of the Great Tree that looms above you. The being that sends these broken and dying souls to you for resurrection.”

  “Ah, of course, that makes sense,” she said. “What is your name?”

  “They call me the World Tree. What do they call you?”

  “Jineve,” she replied. “What is it that you seek of me?”

  I could sense that she was both excited and nervous. “I have need for a human emissary, a voice that I can trust. You have been chosen for this task. Will you accept?”

  There was a long silence from her. “I don’t understand, why me?”

  “My reasons are not to be divulged,” I told her. Truthfully, the only reason I chose her was because she seemed to be an outcast from her group. I did not want to reveal my presence to these priestesses, for fear that they would try to use their divine magic to influence me in some way. If there wasn’t an army on its way to tear me apart from the inside, I wouldn’t have reached out to her at all.

  “What do you require?”

  “Speak on my behalf. Repeat my words to the mortals when necessary. And for that, I shall grant you a home for when you leave this order.”

  “How did you know?” she gasped. “How did you know I was planning to run away?”

  In truth, I had seen her stealing a few items from the temple’s shed and place them in her bag on more than one occasion. But it would not hurt for her to think my knowledge was divine.

  “I see much,” I replied. “Do we have a deal?”

  “To leave the order of Agara is to break a sacred covenant,” she replied. “But I made the oath when I was seven! Taken from my family because they saw that I had magical gifts, but not for healing. Not for this. A seven year old can’t make such a choice. But they will try and make me return. Are you ready for that?”

  “They have already made a sacred oath of peace with me. They cannot violate it. You will be safe housed within me.”

  “Then it’s a deal!” she said. “I’ll slip out as soon as prayers are over.”

  “Be prepared,” I told her. “For you will be facing a great trial soon.”

  Chapter 9

  I was quite nervous the next morning. Jineve had easily slipped away from her church and arrived just in time for the sun to begin rising. The guards had all roused from their slumber and were loudly arguing about why they were out of coffee. Their shouting ceased, however, as the thin, robed human walked into view. I had informed her of the situation, and she was just as unsure as I was. Fortunately, the guards would not harm her, for she wore the clothes of a priestess.

  “Who are you?” the Constable asked. He stood to attention and placed his hand on his sword belt, showing that he was ready for any threat. The other three did as he, preparing to demonstrate
force and violence.

  “I am Jineve, Speaker of the World Tree,” she said, raising her hands high to show she was of no threat. “I bear a connection to this ancient entity.”

  “I see,” the Constable said, placing a hand up. The guards relaxed and went about their business, arranging the camp for more occupants. “Speak your piece then.”

  “The World Tree is a mighty and powerful being, a host that allows a complex ecosystem to grow within it. It is of no danger to you or your town.”

  “Whatever is in there has stolen food from our children’s mouths,” the Constable said.

  And it was at this moment that Jineve went off script entirely.

  “Hah, your damn city has enough food to last three winters. The only thing they stole was a few lousy cows and some pigs.”

  I instructed her to control her words and not speak like this, but she disregarded me.

  Jineve continued. “The only real crime here was the fact that they stole from King Eurol’s private herd.”

  “To steal from the king is to die at the hand of his guard,” the Constable replied. “The tracks were clearly goblin in nature. They hide inside of your so-called World Tree. And we will not be satisfied until they and everything else in this dungeon is dead.”

  “Do you think you have a chance in there?” Jineve asked. “Because you’re making a serious mistake here.”

  “How so?”

  “The World Tree has a sacred pact with the Temple of Agara,” she said. By this point, she had abandoned all of the words I had given her to speak, but I could see that she had some kind of plan. I would allow her to continue, all the while preparing my magic for combat. “We are at peace with one another and serve each other. Should your people die within that tree, we will not bring you back from the dead.”

  “Excuse me?” the Constable said. This seemed to have an impact on him, as he took a slight step back. “But we have done no harm to Agara! Resurrection is our right.”

 

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