“I’m not so sure I like this talk about stopping refugees,” Rezzak spoke up, the angelic-sealed rings on his hands glittering as he gestured. The man was partially deaf so whenever he spoke, his hands did too. Initially, it had annoyed the hell out of Melos, along with his sanctimonious attitude... but the man walked the walk and held himself to the same standards as he did the rest of the world. Melos could respect that.
Hell, it’s not like he was a Nurphite.
Garamundi leaned back, folded his hands across his ample belly. “The refugees, per se, aren’t the problem. Any ruler with brains enough to blow their nose sees the opportunity there. They come bearing wealth, looking for work, and desperate enough to settle in bad areas. Refugees are GOOD. But along with them, come the things that prey on them. Bandits. Warlords. Folks who survived the Bharstool battles and now might see our land as easy pickings... which it is.” He sighed and started pointing to the smaller settlements. “The harvestlands to the east and west of Cylvania City are easy pickings. We’re already having problems enough keeping goblins and roaming monsters out. And once they smaller settlements go, it doesn’t matter how high the walls along our larger settlements, because we won’t have the food to survive at a size large enough to stand against conquerors. And then there’s the monsters. Jane?”
The group looked to its most silent member. Hair jagged and black as her body suit, eyes narrowed, Just Jane stared back for a few seconds, before the assassin-turned-ninja found her voice.
Privately, Melos thought it was cute and squeaky. Not that he’d ever tell her that. She was moody and sensitive and had this trick with pressure points that hurt quite a lot.
“The Agents of the Nevergreen told me that the Bharstoi are pillaging every dungeon in every conquered land... and sealing them. They often do not bother to slay the monsters they evict, instead driving them from their lands.”
“And since all lands east of them are THEIR lands, that means the monsters go west. And they have a trail of refugees to follow and eat, right up until they’ll get to our doorstep. So yes. Years,” King Garamundi said, mopping his forehead with a royal handkerchief. “I’m hoping, I’m really hoping, that you can help me come up with a solution. Now, not years down the road, because when the first waves hit? They’ll only get bigger, and we’ll have less and less time to do anything but deal with them.”
The eight of them stared at the map.
“Do the dwarves know what is to come?” Sabi said, the silks of her headdress twisting as she looked from the map to their King. The ribbons woven through her hair gleamed bright red against her dusky skin. She’d come to Cylvania as a refugee herself, dragged along by parents fleeing the echoes of a nasty religious war. Melos had initially had a thing with her, but it hadn’t worked out. Date a fire elementalist, get burned, he thought to himself with a chuckle. Then Amelia rubbed his shoulder and he let the old mix of regret and shame go. If it hadn’t ended so badly then, he wouldn’t have it so good now.
“The dwarves do, actually,” came a calm voice from the end of the table. The entire group turned to stare as Grissle rose, his gaunt and withered frame creaking as he leaned on his cane. “I’ve been in touch with their Delvers society.”
“The Delvers. Those rabble rousers?” Garamundi frowned.
“An undeserved reputation. Some rail against the King, it’s true. But the wiser among them have been researching the... changeover, as have I.” Grissle’s white hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat. Some diseases, not even oracles can cure, Melos knew. It ate at his guts, caused Grissle pain every minute of the day. Which was why the man had stepped back from active duty with the Seven and taken on the responsibility of supporting them. He’d made most of their magical gear, including the black iron armor Melos wore at this very minute. The wizard and enchanter pointed with a shaking hand. “They’ve closed Badgerdoom.”
“Really?” Amelia leaned forward. “They finally got around to doing something about the badger swarms?”
“Oh yes. And they have been experimenting with the dungeon core.” Grissle’s wet small, tongue licked out and moistened his lips. “Their findings match my own. The arrays, the sorting, we’re seeing the same patterns. The universe, laid out in a numerical code, the very secrets the gods once kept from us laid bare before—”
“Is this getting to a point?” Melos said. Grissle had a tendency to go on, until he reached jargon levels that could put the most patient of men to sleep. And Melos had never been very patient to start with.
Watery brown eyes found his own. For a second Melos toyed with turning on his fear aura, shot down the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. “Yes,” Grissle said. “I think I can use the dungeon cores to protect us from the incoming waves.”
“So the damn things would actually have a use?” Amelia said. “That’s good. I’d hate to think we’ve been collecting them just to take them out of circulation.”
Melos’ wife was an enchanter herself. She’d tried to teach him the art, but he found it boring.
“Oh, they’ve got a use, all right. Come and see!”
“What?”
“We’ve got one set up in the lab right now.”
“We?” Melos asked.
“Oh yes! Once we realized we were getting the same information, we decided to pool our resource. The three most promising apprentices from the Delver Society are my guests at the minute. And yesterday we made a huge breakthrough.”
“So that’s what those little bastards are about!” King Garamundi laughed. “I wondered why there were dwarves wandering around my castle and eating my food.”
“Gris?” Amelia asked, looking pensively at the old wizard, “exactly what is it you’ve got in the labs, right now?”
“If I’m right?” Grissle beamed a thin-lipped smile, “The key to protecting our homeland. Forever!”
*****
“I’m sorry, what’s that word you just said?” Melos asked, blinking down at the small, incredibly well-dressed dwarf.
“I’m a Pygmalion,” she said, tossing her elegantly-braided hair.
And beside her, five stone statues of her did the exact same thing. Which was disconcerting, because their hair was carved from something that really wasn’t supposed to be that flexible.
“It’s an animator and model blend,” Amelia said, smiling down at her. “I’m surprised. Most dwarves don’t go in for the model job.”
“Yeah, well, it’s that diet thing that does most of them in. And a lot of my kin think it’s foolish and wasteful.” She snorted and leaned back in her chair, crossing one perfectly-shaven stumpy leg. “It’s their own fault if they don’t want in on these buffs.”
“No kidding,” Graham said, running an appreciative eye up and down her miniskirted figure.
“Rein it in. Remember, you’re no Bard,” Grissle joked. Then he pointed at the apparatus spread out around the room. “She’s the key to this whole affair.”
“What affair?” Melos asked.
“All my copies act and think as I do,” Brin the Pygmalion explained. “So if you stick one of them in a dungeon master’s slot, it will act like I would and run a dungeon like I would.”
Grissle nodded. “There are flaws. The uplink—”
“The what now?” Rezzak asked.
“The green pillar prevents her from communicating with her copies like she normally could.”
“So they’re on their own initiative. But since I’m all for helping you guys, that’s all well and good.” Brin smiled up at the humans surrounding her.
“And your friends?” Melos glanced over at the other two dwarves. One younger male in a blue robe, who spent most of his time gawping at them, and blinking behind his beard. And an elderly one, wearing light plate mail, who glared at Melos with disgust.
There’s always one of those bastards, Melos thought.
“I’m er, I’m Ragnor.” Said the younger one. “I’m a wizard, here to study the, er, the artifacts—”
&nbs
p; “The cores,” The older one said. “Which I’ve provided from my personal collection.”
His voice... “You’re Ambersand,” Melos realized.
“You are serious?” Sabi said, eyes widening over her veil. “The Ambersand? Savior of Gerdland? Ravager of the Gnolls and the Voids?”
The dwarf’s gaze softened as he looked upon her. “Aye. Though that was a bit ago.” He coughed. “Before the... changeover.”
“Old school. Whoa.” Graham said. “So what was that whole thaco thing about, anyway?”
Ambersand chuckled. “Well, y’see, it was this backwards scale, where plate was a three, and leather was a nine, and you had to—”
“Oh don’t get him started,” Brin said. “Or he’ll be going on about saving rods, staves, and wands.”
“Throws, ya wax-legged wastrel! Ye saved yer throws!” Ambersand yelled.
“Please...” Grissle said, lifting a finger.
“Sorry.” The elderly dwarf cleared his throat.
“Anyway... look. It’s easier if I show you,” Grissle said, moving to what looked all the world like a throne, emblazoned with arcane sigils, that matched the metal pillars around the laboratory. Copper tubes trailed from the throne, stretching out to wrap around the various pillars. “Brin? Column one, if you please.”
Smiling, the little Pygmalion went over to the metal column, and put her hand on the pillar. Purple and green light glittered as she cupped the hollow top of it.
“That’s the Dungeon Core,” Jane rasped. “From Joculah’s.”
“Yes. And with some alignment...” Grissle shifted levers, adjusted sliders, and stabbed a finger down onto the throne’s buttons. “There.”
The remaining six of the Seven tensed, as darkness surrounded them, with green numbers flashing above. Sound faded away, and once more they were in that darkling place between the worlds. The dwarves watched, the younger in awe, taking notes on a parchment, and the elder with wary caution.
Brin, for her part, was enclosed within seconds by a green column. The metal pillar vanished, and she stood there, a beatific look on her face.
All save for one patch of white light, that coalesced to reveal the laboratory. “The entire room is now enclosed, the space replaced by our dungeon,” Grissle happily pointed out. “It’s filling the entire lower level of the castle, all of my labs. Although... it needn’t.” He adjusted spinners and sliders, and as they watched, the perspective through the doorway out shrunk, until the space grew thinner, distorted. “A person could easily step outside and get back to the real world. The dungeon’s a mere few inches thick right now. But we won’t send a person out, no.” He waved to one of Brin’s statues. “The number two, please.”
The statue roused itself, and walked out through the doorway, its own form distorting briefly, then it was through.
“Once she’s got her hands on the second core and wills it to activation...” Grissle smiled. “Ah yes, there we go!” A rune on the throne lit up, and he threw a lever.
Abruptly, the light from the exit changed. He fiddled with the dials and sliders again, and space straightened out...
...revealing the laboratory beyond, and a door in the middle of it, showing a flickering green space.
Wonder stirred in Melos’ mind. “You’ve found a way to nest a dungeon within a dungeon.”
“Oh yes. And by itself that’d be a century or three of study,” Grissle’s voice was smug. “But it’s the ability to adjust and shape the amount of space that the dungeon occupies that makes it useful for the King’s purposes.”
“Explain.” Amelia said.
“Dungeons always have one entrance, don’t they?” Grissle’s tongue wet his lips. “And they block off all the space they occupy... absolutely no way to enter it, save through the entrance. So what if... what if we surrounded our land with a wall of dungeons?”
“You’d need a lot of dungeons,” Amelia shook her head. “And what’s to stop our enemies from entering them and closing them...” her eyes went wide. “...except that you can put the entrance to each dungeon inside another dungeon!”
“Inside the main one,” Grissle smiled. “And thanks to your retrieval of a Rank five dungeon core, it’s just big enough that I can stretch it out to cover the entire Kingdom.”
“Wait, whoa, you’d turn our land into a dungeon?” Graham said. “Not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“A dungeon with nothing in its own main pillars!” Grissle snapped. “No bosses, no mobs, nothing spawning.” He grimaced. “Which is good, because as diffused as it would be, it would be a dungeon in name only. The pillars would react... weirdly. No, the master dungeon would just be there to control the others, allow them to be nested. And once nested...” He grinned and manipulated dials. And through the doorway into the lab that was now a dungeon, the space in the OTHER doorway distorted. “I can spread THEM out, too. Shape them into a barrier.”
Rezzak rubbed his chin. “How many. How many cores, all told?”
“It varies. Seventeen’s optimal. You could do it with one, but there would be... side effects.” Grissle sighed.
“What are the downsides?” Melos asked.
“Mm. well... The problem arises that it’s a little hard on the slaved cores. They’re not meant to be used this way. So they’d need replacing on a regular basis. But since we’re not planning to keep the dungeon wall up permanently, this isn’t a real issue. Just shut down the cores in sequence, swap out any damaged ones, and off we go.” He chuckled, and pointed at the loot pillars spread throughout the room. “I’ve placed the core pylons in synched locations to the loot pillars. If one blew, in a pinch, it’d be the simplest of matters to go and swap one out. Even a monkey could do it. That’d be a little rough on the control throne, though, so you don’t want to do it too often.”
“This is good,” Amelia nodded. “The King needs to see this.”
“I’m glad we agree,” Grissle rasped, the smile stretching his face. “As legacies go, it’ll be a good one for me to leave to the kingdom...”
INTERLUDE 3: KING’S LOSS
“Number seventeen.” Melos smiled, as he handed the orange crystal over. “We had to run down to Caneland for this one, so I hope you appreciate it. It was a swamp dungeon, with Gribbits everywhere. You would not believe how many of us saw the inside of giant froggy stomachs.”
“That?” Grissle said, taking the core with a rictus grin, “that is why I don’t mind retiring from the field so much.”
“So what now?”
“Now?” Grissle looked toward the throne, powered down, and looming, all angles and runes and spiraling copper tubes. At the pillars, each of which bore a gem at their peak. “Nothing. It’s the middle of the night and Brin’s asleep. It takes a lot to make seventeen Pygmalion copies, as it turns out. A lot of materials, a lot of crafting, some of which has to be done the old fashioned way.”
“Ouch.” Melos frowned. “I can’t imagine the patience that would take.”
“Which is why it’s good she’s a dwarf. They’re not as bad as elves, but they’d rather spend a few years working on something rather than admit it has some minor flaws.” Grissle glanced toward the throne. “Unlike me.” The old wizard’s face grew pensive.
“What is it?”
“No... I’m sure it’ll be fine. Nothing.” Grissle shook his head.
Melos put his arm around his oldest friend, the man who’d given him a chance, who’d looked past the cultist to see the hero within. “Gris, talk to me here. We’re dealing with forces that daemons tread cautiously around. And you’re...” dying, “...you’ve been busy, and under a lot of stress. Talk to me here.”
Grissle sighed and sat in the throne, staring down at his slippered feet. “There are some issues with feedback. There’s been a side effect to nesting the dungeons... it puts pressure on the central dungeon master’s column. I’ve been able to rig an emergency shunt to the throne, but I can’t cancel the bleed-out entirely. “
“Pres
sure. What kind of pressure?”
“Mental pressure. It...” Grissle mopped his face. The man was sweating far more than normal, his voice dull. “All pillars do it, they fray at the sanity of those within it. But in most, as far as I can tell, it’s gradual. When you’re nesting seventeen dungeons at once? It goes quickly.”
Melos rubbed his beard. “Mana potions?”
“Good when I’m on the throne. Non-functional in the main pillars. You don’t regain any pooled energy in there, not sanity, not Moxie, not anything. Drinking doesn’t work. Sleeping does, a bit, but it’s deuced uncomfortable.”
“You’ve been trying this on yourself.”
“And who else could I ask?” Grissle raised his hands. “King Grundi’s found out that the Delvers are messing around with dungeon cores and taken it hard. If a dwarf dies here, it’ll be the end of their society.”
“Wait. Dies?” Melos said, crossing to the throne and leaning on it, scrutinizing the old wizard closely.
“A small chance.” Grissle licked his lips. “But there.”
“You’re experimenting on yourself, with something that could kill a DWARF.”
Grissle sighed. “They don’t have my contingency plan.”
“Gris...”
“I know. I know I said I was done with necromancy. But...”
“You know how the King is going to take this.”
“The King doesn’t know. Nor will he, unless the worst happens, in which case I fix it and go to my eternal rest.” Grissle stared up at him, with watery, desperate eyes. “Unless you tell him.”
Melos closed his eyes.
A breath. Two. Three. “You’re bound and determined on this.”
“This is only the first iteration. Every day, I’m learning what I did wrong with this control throne. Every day I’m another step to understanding. Understanding why.”
There were four tier one jobs that granted access to a form of the experimentation skill, at twenty-fifth level. Grissle had all four, had ground them obsessively, seeking answers. Answers for the changeover. Answers for why the cure disease spell had been stripped from every cleric in the land, well before his own illness surfaced.
Threadbare Volume 3 Page 22