Tree Guardian

by Andrew Karevik

  While Fernus mumbled and cackled to himself about creating the next apocalypse, I turned my attention to Regar, who had been trying to get a hold of me for some time now. There were still many matters to handle and, while I was able to divide my attentions on the more mechanical tasks, I found it difficult to have conversations while staying focused elsewhere.

  “You have need of me?” I asked, my words ringing out in Regar’s mind. The minotaur had been busy working on his shop inventory for the second level. The influx of adventurers had given him many more sales and he had been pleased so far with the tasks that came with managing a bustling shop.

  “About time,” Regar snorted as he polished a potion bottle. “You know I only call you when it’s important.”

  “You do not have the rights to call upon me yet,” I reminded him. “I answer only when I have the time.”

  “Well, you’ve got a problem,” Regar said, pointing to a sprawled out Vincenzo who was lying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. The strange cartographer was carefully tracing the ceiling with his fingers, as if he saw something no one else did.

  “The mapmaker? Is he sick?” I asked. Truthfully, I was surprised to find the stout man still alive. A man with a face as soft as his would normally have been chewed up by the first trap.

  Regar shook his head. “If only that were the case. No, Vincenzo is in fine spirits. He is a dungeon mapper.”

  “So I have been told,” I replied. “Is this a problem?”

  “Indeed, it is,” Regar said. “Dungeon mappers don’t just draw rough sketches of the interiors. These guys trip every trap they can find. They study the monsters, the treasures; they find the secret doors and the special openings. And they mark it all down.”

  “And once they are finished…they make copies,” I replied, suddenly realizing the danger. If Vincenzo was able to indeed find every trap and trick that I used, learn of all my secrets, then the adventurers who arrived would easily be able to survive.

  “He’s just making the rounds right now,” Regar said. “Getting a feel for the dungeon. But once he’s ready to start seriously charting this place, we can kiss any chance of killing adventurers goodbye.”

  “I could just change all of my traps,” I replied. But I had already expended a significant amount of magic on creating these areas. Changing and developing traps would prove costly.

  “He’d be back,” Regar said. “Or one of his brethren. They’d update the map all the same. They use some kind of weird charm ink that alerts them when things change. If they sold outdated maps, then no one would want to use them.”

  “So, I suppose we should…” I paused as I looked at the man who was now scribbling on a pad of paper. I could see a few different sketches of traps on it. I doubted killing him would do anything other than slow him down. He’d come back again and again, hell-bent on mapping me out. And he was part of a guild, so if things got truly troublesome he could just simply call for more help. “What should we do, Regar?”

  Regar shrugged. “Hell if I know. I don’t normally have to worry about something like this. But he seems reasonable and he’s a cheap bastard too, bartered like hell over a five copper loaf of bread. Maybe you can buy him off?”

  “Doubtful,” I replied. “But perhaps he will see reason.”

  I reached out with my telepathy spell and connected to his mind.

  “Vincenzo,” I spoke. “I am the Feverwood Dungeon, the Great Tree that looms above Yehan.”

  “Finally, you speak!” Vincenzo said out loud, hopping to his feet. “I am most pleased to hear your voice.”

  “You are taking note of my interior, recording my secrets,” I said. “I do not approve of this.”

  Vincenzo bowed deeply. “I am so humbled by your words, Great Tree. Please know that I am not trying to do anything that would bring you harm. It is my mere job to be a mapper, to keep track of what lies within this place.”

  “And then you will sell my secrets to many adventurers,” I replied. “What makes you think that I will tolerate such a thing?”

  “I wished to speak with you earlier, to make a deal with you,” Vincenzo said, “but you were unable to reply. No doubt busy with many important issues.”

  “There will be no deal. You must leave this place and not return,” I said.

  Vincenzo grimaced at that, trying to keep his smile wide but failing. He clasped his hands together. “I fear, Great Tree, and I do apologize, that is not possible. Once Vincenzo has seen such a beautiful dungeon like this, he must map it. There is no other option.”

  There was an option, of course. I could send Gariatha’s orcs to put him in a bag and club him until he chose to leave. There was something so grating about his false flattery and weasel smile that I felt the urge to make such an order. But I held back, hoping that he would realize the danger of his ways.

  “If you stay here, you will be making yourself a great enemy of mine. And I do not treat my enemies well at all. Do you wish to be destroyed?”

  Vincenzo bowed again. “I fear, and oh Great Tree it pains me to say this, you won’t be able to kill me. I have walked many horrible halls, witnessed many terrible things. I have been in the mouths of dragons and trapped in chambers meant to drive a man mad. My body might look soft and weak to you, but I assure you it comes from mostly a diet of eating the richest cheeses and finest wines. Whatever you wish to throw at me, I will conquer.”

  “Is that so?” I asked.

  Vincenzo clasped his hands and gritted his teeth. “It is, I am sorry.”

  “Have it your way then,” I said as I teleported him to the first room in Level Three. It was technically a violation of my own policy of not interfering directly with my magic, but this Vincenzo fellow had to be removed. I would keep teleporting him back to the third floor, over and over again. Even if he managed to survive all six rooms of Zone 1, Yim would ensure Vincenzo would be no more. Perhaps the dragon would enjoy the taste of a man who only ate the richest cheeses.

  Chapter 16

  “They attack me from the surface,” came the voice to me one late night. It belonged, of course, to the Dungeon Below. I could sense its mind pushing towards me, connecting with the same telepathy spell I had used to connect to it. Except, I could not sense any emotions or feelings from the creature. It was blocking me out. “And I suspect that you are the one who told them to do such a thing.”

  An expanded vocabulary? The ability to reason and deduce? This wasn’t good. Fernus was still far off on developing a wide ranged destruction spell, and we didn’t nearly have enough alchemist firepowder to handle an attack from this being. I hoped that my magic stores would be sufficient enough to push it back if it were to try and ram into me again.

  “You make quite the accusation,” I replied.

  “You think that because I do not speak words as well as you, that I am stupid,” the Dungeon Below said, growling a little. “I did not have command of your language because it had been two millennia since I had spoken to another being. But now? I have listened to how your little goblins and orcs talk to one another. I understand your language enough to speak. I think in words now, not pictures.”

  Despite the fact that it had developed a method of blocking its emotions, I could still sense anger in its voice. This rapid development in both language and intelligence meant I wouldn’t be able to fool it any longer.

  “You pose a danger to me, to my population and the adventurers who come to visit me,” I answered. “I must defend what is rightfully mine.”

  “You own the surface?” it hissed. “You own the very ground in the forest?”

  “I am responsible for it, yes. And you are a cruel being who wants only to devour and destroy. You consume not only essence but souls. I cannot allow for you to do such a thing.”

  “I am not a fool. You don’t care about my cruelty, you only want the food for yourself. We both need to drink from the same cup, do we not? So, you send your people to harm
me, to destroy my mouths, to bring about great ruin to my lifeblood. And you try to hide your jealousy, your hunger behind a coat of righteous words.”

  “Think what you wish about me and my intentions,” I replied, “it does not matter to me. If you will retreat deeper into the earth, far from my roots and my home, I will leave you alone. But if you continue to usurp my authority, you will be destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” it repeated. “You cannot kill me. The adventurers you sent in to find my weakness were quick to die. None made it past the second room. Do you think your orc army will get further than that? Your firepowder is strong, but I am stronger.”

  “And you seem to forget that I am stronger than you,” I replied. “My magic stores are greater; my mind is more powerful, and I have so many spells at my disposal.”

  “Yet you seek the wizard Fernus to aid you,” the Dungeon Below said, snickering. “I can hear his thoughts echoing in his mind. Kill the dungeon, kill the dungeon. That is all he thinks about. The spell of telepathy you gave me has done much.”

  “I gave you no such spell,” I said.

  “Not voluntarily,” it said, snickering more. “But I can steal from you just as much as you have stolen from me.”

  “How? How are you doing such a thing?”

  “I would not dare to tell you, but rest assured, each time we talk, I get a new spell. A new insight into what is happening above me.”

  I tried to cut off communications at once, to push it away from me, but its presence remained firmly affixed to my mind. The telepathy spell could only be ended when the caster decided or if focus was lost.

  “Struggle all you wish,” the Dungeon Below gloated, “but I shall have more and more and more of what you have.”

  “You are a parasite!”

  “Indeed, I am, and it is fortunate that I am able to connect to such a prosperous host. I may never be as strong as you, but I shall feast upon your victories and power all the same.”

  “I will see that you are annihilated,” I told the beast. “No matter what happens, I shall kill you.”

  “You were already planning that,” the Dungeon Below said. “This changes nothing in your mind. But I feel your fear. I know that you are worried now, perhaps more worried than ever before. You wonder which spells I have stolen; which powers are mine. Perhaps a demonstration would be in order?”

  After it spoke those words, I felt a deep rumbling from the earth, shaking my very roots. The Dungeon Below was forming a new room, tunneling upwards towards the shield spell that I had created to protect the goblins. As the hallway carved through the earth, the shield began to flicker, weakening thanks to some magical interference.

  At once I began casting spells meant to reinforce the shield, pumping all of my magic to guard the village. If that mouth connected, it would all be over. The hallway smashed into the thin layer of magical energy but was thankfully repulsed by my magical might. Relief surged through me, as the new mouth began to retreat back into the ground.

  “You spent a great deal of magic to stop that,” the Dungeon Below whispered to me. “How much did I spend? Was it the same amount? Or was it much, much less? Because for me, expanding and contracting is as easy as it is for a mortal to breathe. Shall we try again?”

  Before I could say anything, it began to expand again, this time bringing two separate entrances upwards at full speed. They tunneled through the dirt as if it were nothing, and I was again forced to waste more of my magic to cancel out the Dungeon’s magical interference. These attacks were repelled, but the cost of actively spending my magic was great.

  “Are you tired yet?” the Dungeon asked. “Because I will be doing this over and over and over, until you allow me to place an entrance above the ground.”

  “You wish to scare me into submission?” I said as I began to prepare a different tactic. I could create a portal that would lead to the Plane of Eternal Flames, a strange demiplane that was filled with nothing but fire. This would redirect the attacks into somewhere much more painful.

  “And you wish to trick me with a portal?” it replied. “By all means, spend your magic on it. Use all of your might to stop me. It costs me nothing, but you will not regain that power quickly.”

  An anger began to well up within me. It had clearly grown in both intelligence and cunning, enough so to know that my resources were too limited right now. I couldn’t just squander all my magic on some petty fight, especially when there was little chance of winning.

  “Fine, fine!” I shouted at it, making sure to be as loud as possible. “If you want an entrance, so be it. Put it by the old temple and leave me be.”

  “Rolling over so quickly? As if you aren’t preparing to kill me,” it replied. “But as I said before, you will not be able to destroy me. Let it be known, World Tree, that when you decide to cast the spell that Fernus creates, I shall bring about an equal level of destruction to your people. I shall split open your feeble shield and gobble them all up, eating each and every last one until their souls are all mine.”

  “Are you done taunting me?” I asked. I felt a slip of emotion from it, anger at the fact that I had not been shaken by its threat. I felt the connection end and the mind retreated from me, leaving me alone at last. I could see a new entrance open up by the temple, in the same place it had been before the orcs had blown it to pieces.

  I quickly began to focus and cast two new spells. The first was a standard telepathic shield that most mages learned in order to protect their minds from psychic monsters that lived beneath the earth. With a few tweaks, I was able to ensure that it was permanently running, drawing power from my natural collection of magic. This would prevent the Dungeon Below from accessing my thoughts any longer. If the spell was too weak to stop it from thought stealing, I would at the very least become aware of its presence.

  The second spell was an upgraded version of the shield spell I had cast beneath the village. I pumped a great deal of magic into it, making it strong enough to withstand any major force. On top of that, I also modified it so that a pain field would emanate from it. Merely touching the shield would cause severe agony in the individual. If it was slammed into, the force of the attack would be reflected back, dealing twice as much pain to the attacker.

  This spell was quite expensive to cast, but what other choice did I have? I couldn’t leave myself vulnerable to the Dungeon Below’s foolish attacks. And I wasn’t about to allow its mouth to remain on the surface. After the spell was cast and a new shimmering yellow shield emanated around the goblin village, I ordered that Gariatha send a band of orcs to destroy the new entrance. But this time, I instructed, make sure that they roll a few barrels with lit fuses inside of the dungeon. That would ensure it knew that I was serious about fighting back.

  Chapter 17

  I should have been more careful when it came to irritating the Dungeon Below. I had acted impulsively, by ordering its new mouth pulverized less than a day after it had opened up. But I was angry with it and wanted to show it I was not someone to bully. My new shield was working just fine, but the Dungeon was still ramming into it on an hourly basis. It was frustrating, to say the least. Each time it would cause enough damage that required me to patch the shield up with more of my magic.

  The worst part was that I knew my shield was inflicting it extreme pain. Every time it slammed into the barrier, I could hear the shrieks of agony from the monstrous dungeon, but so angry it was with me that it didn’t care about its own health or safety. It just wanted to make me suffer. To waste my vital resources.

  This continued for an entire week. I did not relent in my defenses, however, and made sure to keep focused on protecting the shield while I managed other things. Truth be told, it was hard to concentrate when it was under frequent attack, but I knew that if I could just keep my defenses up long enough, eventually the Dungeon would tire out. By the seventh day, the attacks were becoming less frequent. Then, they ceased entirely.

  I felt
the Dungeon Below try to connect to my mind, to contact me. But I ignored it. What was there left to be said? We were no longer uneasy neighbors. We were enemies at war. Whatever the Dungeon’s next move was, I had to be ready. I would not allow it access to my mind any longer. I felt the familiar sense of paranoia beginning to well up within me. Why was it that, no matter what happened in my existence, something was always plotting against me? If not an evil necromancer, then the gods, and if not the gods, then both a dungeon and a nightmare reality-eating Invasion.

  The temptation to fall silent and retreat into myself, to hibernate for a few centuries, was great. But I had too many important matters to worry about, too many concerns. The exhaustion was beginning to get to me, yet I could not rest adequately. Each time I sat still, just to gather my energies, invasive thoughts came rushing to me, all informing me of the many tasks I needed to handle. There were traps to build, rooms to renovate, people to steward. And then there were the stray thoughts that would inevitably lead to the Invasion. I could not rest my body, or my mind. There was no peace to be found.

  I tried my best to carry on with my business, but I was growing more and more distracted. I was making mistakes, careless ones that could have easily been avoided. It all came to a head one morning, when I was building a pit trap in Zone 7 of Level Three. I had been so busy thinking about something else that I neglected to reinforce the foundation and ended up collapsing the floor beneath the pit. The rubble crashed down upon Tynd and his artisans who were busy detailing one of the vaults. Tynd lost his leg and two workers were killed.

  I was devastated, yet the goblins did not attribute the disaster to me. Rather they immediately began repairing the foundation while Ehdrid raised the dead. Tynd’s leg was replaced with a decorated ivory replica, strapped to his knee. There were ways to regrow limbs, but Tynd was proud of the strange attachment he had built. Business continued as usual for the goblins. The collapse was just another hazard that they faced while living in a dungeon; it was no different than a violent storm in the outside world.