Tree Guardian

by Andrew Karevik

  “I understand your fears,” I said. “But rest assured that I do not mean you harm.”

  “No one means harm to anyone,” Fernus said with a slight chuckle, “at least when they’re making promises. But a promise means nothing to me. I don’t expect anyone to keep their word when doing the opposite would benefit them the most.”

  Reasoning with him would not work. I would have to change my strategies. “I see through your veil,” I said. “You do not fear my wrath; you simply do not have the capacity for such a task. I apologize for wasting your time.”

  “Hah, you mean to appeal to my sense of ego and pride?” Fernus replied. “You must think that I am a fool.”

  I said nothing back. My presence was still focused upon him, of course, but I knew that my insult would get under his skin sooner or later. The silence would especially add to this insult.

  Fernus went back to reading his periodical and drinking his tea. But he was a little agitated; I could see it upon his face. He turned the pages a little too roughly, placed his tea cup down just a little too hard, enough to make it clink.

  “I could,” he mumbled. “Just don’t want to.”

  After half an hour of fidgeting and attempting to read his journal, Fernus began to turn his own attention to the books that had been left strewn out across the tables. Books on dungeons and their origins, how the different types of deep magic interacted with our world.

  “It’s not like such an undertaking would be difficult,” he mumbled to himself as he reached for a parchment and his ink quill. Quickly, he began scribbling out designs and incantations for spells. “Call me inadequate…”

  If there was one thing I had learned about wizards, above all else, was that pride was their biggest downfall. Most wizards spent years upon years, locked away in solitude to master their art. Learning magic was difficult and often took a lifetime in order to achieve. Most wizards often had to use special spells and charms to extend their own lifespan, just so that they could come close to having great power. This bred an elitist attitude within them, often leading them to compare themselves to old wizards who were much more powerful. To make the claims that their skills were not up to the task would be enough to motivate most wizards, even if they figured out that they were being manipulated.

  “Great Tree,” Fernus hissed as he began to work.

  “You called me?” I asked, pretending I had not been watching him this entire time.

  “Normally, I would look at your pathetic efforts to motivate me into developing this spell as an insult and ignore it. But, it did occur to me in my thinking that this type of spell would require an imitation of deep magic, something few wizards are capable of. If I were to pull this off, it would be a legendary accomplishment.”

  “Very well,” I replied.

  “But I am warning you. I will not take kindly to any type of betrayal. If I am to develop the right kind of spell for you, then you must take an oath that you will not harm me.”

  “I will take no such oath, “I replied. “For you are a cruel and vile man. You would not believe that I would keep my oath anyway. I have no way of knowing that you will not use such a spell against me, which will be enough of a deterrent.”

  Fernus shrugged. “True. Very well, I shall begin my research at once. You must, however, provide me with whatever I need. Leaving this place is dangerous for a man such as myself, so I would rather have one of your own lackies sent out for supplies, books, and so on.”

  I agreed to Fernus’ conditions, paying for all supplies necessary to create this new spell. He rambled for a time to me about the necessary elements required in order to cast spells like this one, often speaking in big words in the hopes of impressing me. Hearing his blather was a small price to pay to finally be free of that dungeon.

  As he set to work, I also began to prepare a method of protecting my own core. I reworked the walls, lining them with anti-magic material, essentially sealing it in a box that was impossible to access from the outside. There were no doors, no windows, no method of entry. The heart itself was buried within several tons of dirt, requiring anyone who wanted to visit harm upon it to be able to dig through first. This would be sufficient, I believed, to ensure that I was safe from any kind of attack that Fernus or someone else might attempt. If not, I was beginning to grow a second core, deep within the earth, hidden away so that no one could see it. It would take time for this core to grow, but if I were in the process of dying, I would be able to quickly snap my consciousness into that seed and stay alive—no matter what was happening to my original core.

  Chapter 13

  Fernus’ task was daunting, but I was confident that he would be able to pull it off. In the meantime, Gariatha’s orcs were keen to seal up the entrance to the Dungeon Below, using bricks to prevent anyone from entering. This was a temporary measure and would not prove to be too efficient, as the first thing most adventurers did upon finding a bricked up entrance was bring out their hammers and start breaking their way through.

  Once the first entrance was sealed, I spotted another one in the distance, near where the old Temple of Agara had once been. It had since been abandoned by the priestesses, leaving behind little but rubble and scorched stone. Now an entrance had been crafted, belonging to my adversary. Fortunately, this was not too much of an issue, as adventurers didn’t go that way anymore.

  One of the measures I had taken to increase the flow of traffic to my dungeon was to improve the travel conditions within the Feverwood Forest itself. I deployed a team of goblin engineers (with a heavy cadre of orc bodyguards) to build roads throughout the entire forest. They laid down pavement that ran through the three major towns, all connecting to a center road that led directly from my mouth to Oregmyer. This would not only aid Gariatha’s trading post but ensure that adventurers were able to find me without much work.

  I also commissioned Thomas, my resident architect, to create a new map of Yehan, but one that had the Feverwood Dungeon listed on it topographically. He was a little hesitant about the task, but fortunately his years of mapping my interior for the goblins had given him enough skill in drawing to build a satisfactory map.

  Where would I send such a map? To the Yehan Explorers and Cartographers’ Guild, to be replicated. From what I had heard, this guild had access to strange little creatures that were able to dip their many pointed claws in ink and rapidly reproduce any image in front of them. Whether they were natural beings or created by a wizard who was sick of copying books by hand, the Cartographers’ Guild had exclusive access to these creatures. This made their maps the most prolific in the world. I could benefit by having them create copies and distribute my new map throughout their circles.

  An emissary was sent with the new map to the capital of East Yehan, Thriniksburg, where the main headquarters to the Cartographers’ Guild was located. Thriniksburg was a bustling city, three times the size of Oregmyer and under the dominion of a band of elders. They were not kings and could not make any decision without voting upon it first. It was a curious custom, but Thriniksburg was thriving because the elders were slow to make any major decision, thus preventing them from entering into costly wars that would put a strain on the population.

  I wondered if I would be adopting such a model of governance at some point. My own population was beginning to grow quite large, what with the number of goblins constantly growing, as well as the orcs who had taken up residence while they awaited the creation of a new afterlife. Would I become as a city? I had no real interest in governing, but I already had a small council in place. Perhaps if the time was right, I could give them power to do as was necessary in regard to taking care of the population. But that would only be if the population was continuing to expand.

  Eventually, my emissary returned with word that the Cartographers’ Guild had been delighted to see this new map. They would be happy to replicate it and place it amongst their collection to be distributed throughout the many stores in Yehan. There was
also mention that I would soon be visited by a guild representative, who would map my dungeon’s interior. Such a matter was of no concern of mine and I quickly forgot about any visit. I would afford this representative no special treatment. If he wanted to make a map of me, he would have to survive the traps and puzzles all the same. I had other things to worry about.

  Thanks to Fernus’ appearance in my dungeon, and the many quests I distributed, I had a steady stream of adventurers arriving in the hopes of finally slaying the Great Evil within. Many of them were brave crusaders who were armed to the teeth with high grade magical gear meant to protect them from the wiles of the wizard.

  These were not simple adventurers who had just started in their efforts at dungeon crawling. They were seasoned veterans, with exceptionally large parties. One group that entered was nearly fifteen people in size—the largest party of adventurers I had ever met. This group, dubbed as the Crusade of Vurik, was led by a fervent Paladin of Rignus. He had taken an oath to slay Fernus and was filled with a mighty fervor that whipped all of his allies into a frenzy at a moment’s notice.

  They followed him loyally, enduring the many traps and tricks that my first level had for them. They ignored, for the most part, the treasure lying behind each vault, for their weapons were of a higher grade. But they lost a lot of time on the first level, making mistakes, getting injured and having to spend their valuable health potions and items in order to stay alive.

  Eventually, they discovered the entrance to the second level, one that I had hidden away near the fountain. Originally, I had designed the dungeon so that each adventuring party could simply choose each level they wanted to explore, but Regar had advised me against it. The key to properly pacing a dungeon, he explained, was burning their resources at a steady rate. Each time a health potion was used, each time a scroll of curing or dispelling curses was activated, the adventurers would have less and less to work with.

  Yes, there were merchants that they could use to restock their wares, but that would ultimately provide more of a benefit to me and the shopkeep—as it would bring significantly more money to us. Ultimately, creating key areas to force adventurers to burn their resources would not only slow down their progression, it could potentially stop them in their tracks and compel them to turn around and head back to a shop. This would increase the chances of them becoming overfamiliar with the areas they had conquered or passed, which could translate into making mistakes that could ultimately end up costing them everything.

  I watched as the Crusade of Vurik made their way to the second floor. I enjoyed seeing their reactions at Zone 1, a newly renovated area that had been given the theme of fire. The walls were thick, black stone with small veins of burning red magma inside of them, giving off a bit of heat. In the center of the zone was a large lavafall, pouring endlessly into a large hole that would reroute the lava through the rest of the walls.

  Golems made of burning ember wandered about this zone, attacking anyone who attempted to enter into the vaults that led to various treasures. The only way to reach the next zone was to plunge one’s hand into the burning lava while wearing the Gloves of Insulation. Or they could just cast a fire protection spell. I wasn’t too concerned with keeping adventurers stuck in any zone for too long, as each area was equally deadly.

  Each zone in Level Two was sealed off with a vault, meant to link to the other zones. In the center of the level was Zone 4, which connected to the other four vaults surrounding it. This zone was where the shop was located, as well as a shrine to various gods who could be entreated for blessings. No traps or dangers were in this zone, making it a favorite area for the new adventurers to return to in order to rest and heal up. It also gave my goblin engineers plenty of time to reset traps and repair any damage. A single night’s rest would ensure all of the traps would be functional again.

  That said, the Crusade of Vurik wasn’t interested in fiddling around. Once they made their way to the second level and began to navigate, they found clues and signs that pointed them towards Zone 8, where Fernus was located. They wasted no time in making a beeline straight for the final zone, working diligently to bypass traps and avoid anything that would take too much of their energy. They conserved all resources for the final showdown. All the while, the Paladin of Rignus gave rousing speeches, spurring his large team onwards.

  They arrived in Zone 8 a mere two days after entering the dungeon, which was a rather quick pace. Upon spotting the tower, they began to prepare. The fighters lined up and awaited for the clerics and wizards to cast their buffing spells upon them; the rogues scouted out the location, using invisibility rings to look about in the hopes of finding a secret entrance; and Vurik the paladin continued to give his speeches.

  All in all, I was impressed. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if this would spell the end for the evil wizard. Fighting off fifteen people at once would not be easy, especially when they were all geared for such a mortal battle. As I watched them get ready to storm the tower, the balcony window opened up and Fernus leaned his head out.

  “What manner of stupidity leads you to make so much noise outside my tower?” he demanded.

  Vurik raised his sword high, clattering it against his shield. “Fernus! I am Vurik and this is my crusade! We have come to put an end to your evil reign!”

  Fernus nodded at those words and stretched out a single hand towards the group. “Very well,” he said as he released a torrent of magical pulses. The energy in such a spell was enormous. In fact, it may have been the strongest type of arcane magic I had ever seen.

  The wave of purple energy crashed over the group and annihilated them instantly, leaving behind nothing but their magical items that had been enchanted to resist disintegration.

  “I left the gear for you,” Fernus shouted up at me. “Damned adventurers,” he mumbled as he closed the window and went back to his work.

  Of Vurik’s Crusade, only two of the rogues were still alive. Having been hired to disarm traps, they quickly realized such a job was above their pay grade and they escaped with what treasure they could carry. The rest of the team were quick to return to life back on the first level, but Vurik did not. Perhaps he chose to enter into eternal rest, as opposed to suffering the humiliation of his instant defeat in the mortal world. The crusaders dispersed, and I collected a great deal of life essence. My magical stores were almost overflowing, as the thirteen who had died were of extremely high level. Overall, my decision to bring about a mad wizard was paying off quite well. I had more than enough magic to begin the overhaul of the third level.

  Chapter 14

  Before I could begin my renovation of the third level, my attention was diverted by a single, garishly-dressed man who arrived riding a phantom steed. This man wore elegant silk clothes along with a red hat, complete with a long feather sticking out of it. He was clearly well-fed and bore the most obnoxious smile I had ever seen upon a human.

  “Vincenzo has arrived!” he said, clapping his hands as if there was an audience. The only person nearby was Immix, who had been gagged and tied to one of my branches as punishment for wearing Gariatha’s boots as gloves.

  I watched in curiosity as Vincenzo produced a large parchment from his side—it had been rolled up and placed in a tube on his hip. A quill floated next to him and began to draw upon the map as he focused on it. This must have been the representative from the Cartographers’ Guild. He was here to map my interior. I would not afford him any kind of special treatment and promptly ignored his request to speak with me.

  I began to work on the third level, keeping with the idea of it being a high-grade killing floor. I would retain the original trap designs, but they would be gathered in one zone. After the gauntlet was run, there would be a vault that would lead into Zone 2, where the adventurers would be greeted by a dragon. Of course, this was assuming that I would be able to get a dragon to agree to live within me.

  Dragons in the realm of Yehan were rare to come across, but they di
d exist. They had the natural ability to travel through planes, moving between points in reality the same way that a bird moves through the air. Long-lived and curious creatures, dragons often enjoyed exploring and seeing the world, until they reached the age where their planar abilities grew weaker. Dragons were not endemic to Yehan, but had either arrived of their own free will or grown stranded as they aged. It was not uncommon for a dragon to take up wizardry in order to learn how to cast spells of planar travel, lest they be stuck in one place for too long.

  These dragons were despised by the residents of Yehan for one single reason: dragons did not consider mortals to have rights. These creatures were large, powerful and lived for thousands upon thousands of years. Even if they were slain, their bodies would simply melt into the land, becoming a part of the landscape for a few thousand years. Eventually, the land would absorb enough magic to recreate the dragon’s body and he would return, his mind still intact.

  Since they were essentially immortal, they looked down upon other races and saw themselves as demigods. So, if a dragon came upon something they wanted, they would simply take it from the mortals who owned it. If they did not like a kingdom, or had a feud with another mortal, they would simply fly above it and burn everything down. Morality was not something a dragon was concerned with, not when it came to mortal beings. The common reasoning amongst these creatures was: if a mortal died, then did they truly have a right to ownership of their possessions? Since a dragon cannot truly die, shouldn’t they have the right to take what they pleased from those who will expire anyway?