Dungeon Bringer 3

by Nick Harrow

  “That was the real prize.” Charlie stretched experimentally, then stood. “Good healing. Thanks. Anyway, you didn’t really think the Raiders Guild came all this way to pop a tiny little dungeon like yours, did you? The oracles prognosticated a hunk of godmarrow would be here, and my team was tasked with yanking it out of the ground. If it hadn’t been for a fuckton of iron ore between us and the loot, we’d have been long gone before you even knew we’d been here.”

  “The guild hunts godmarrow?” Good God, was there anyone I didn’t have to compete with for the stuff?

  “Of course.” Charlie looked at me like I’d grown a third eye. “It’s valuable, it’s coveted by dungeon lords, and we can use it perform miracles. Why wouldn’t we hunt it?”

  “Great,” I said. “Let’s put a pin in that and circle back to it later. Right now, we have to go talk to the dwarves.”

  “Waste of time.” Charlie stood from her chair, pressed her knuckles against the base of her spine, and stretched again. “We’d be better off if we just killed them.”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  The new snag in my plans had me so pissed off I didn’t even try to be careful as I left the tent. Mohawk’s feet knocked over a table of the raiders’ limited food, her head tipped a brazier onto the floor, and Del’s dagger ripped a yard-long hole in the shelter’s canvas side out of pure spite.

  Take that, dickheads.

  The dwarves were all gathered around the magma pool. Their hands were still in chains, and the raiders who watched over them did so from a safe distance. Both groups eyeballed Delsinia as she approached with a raider slung over her shoulder.

  “Which one of you’s the boss?” I asked the chained dwarves through Delsinia.

  They stared at one another for a moment, their enormous eyebrows scrunched down over their eyes like looming thunderheads. After a few moments, one of their number stepped forward with his empty bucket held between his manacled wrists.

  “I am Kark, son of Kark,” he said in a voice that had more in common with grinding rocks than anything that had ever come out of a human throat. “I am no elder, but my people have agreed to listen to my words until we can return to our homes.”

  All right, we were off to a good start. I knew who was in charge, and neither of us had threatened to kill the other.

  “Good to meet you, Kark,” I said. “I’m Lord Rathokhetra, but if you’re not going to be a dick about things, you can call me Clay.”

  The dwarves exchanged glances at that, and I saw clouds of unease cross their faces

  “It has been many turnings of the wheel since we have heard that name,” Kark said. “Our legends say Rathokhetra fell at the hands of his former allies. Those same legends also say that the dungeon lord was a man, and you most definitely are not that. Why should we believe you are who you claim?”

  Rathokhetra’s thoughts crashed through mine. I didn’t have time to sort through the mess of his mind, but it was clear he was not pleased that people were so sure he was long gone.

  “Different guy, same name,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “And this body you see is one of my guardians, who has allowed me to use it so we can talk. Short version, I’m the new dungeon lord around here, and I want to help you. If you agree to work with me, I’ll get you back to your people.”

  Kark rubbed his beard and dislodged clouds of dust and soot from its tangled hairs. His skin was gray, but I couldn’t tell if that was because it was stained with grime from digging for iron or because he’d been born that way. The wrinkles and crevices that lined his face like a topographical map of a mountain range were black as coal, and I wouldn’t have eaten with his calloused, grubby hands if he’d spent a year soaking them in Palmolive.

  “What do you want us to do?” he asked.

  Things were looking up. Kark had listened to what I had to say, and he hadn’t asked me to kill the raiders even a single time. We might all get out of this with our skins intact.

  “First, I need you to keep mining until we get to the godmarrow,” I said. “Load the iron into the carts I’ll send down. I also need some of you to return to my village to help train our blacksmiths.”

  “Dwarf work isn’t for human hands,” Kark scoffed.

  “I don’t expect you to turn them into master craftsmen such as yourself.” If the dirty little bastard wanted to be flattered, fine, I’d flatter his dirt-stained balls off. “But if you can show them the way to turn out halfway decent work faster, I’d appreciate it.”

  “One of our children could do that,” Kark said, his chest puffed out with pride. “But I will give you two of our journeymen to instruct your people. The rest of us will return home.”

  “Hold your horses,” I said. “I have something else I need you to do.”

  I explained the more complicated part of my plan to Kark, and he scratched his beard so furiously he damned near vanished behind a cloud of dust and grit. After a few seconds of consideration, he turned back to the other dwarves.

  After a long discussion that sounded more like an avalanche than words, Kark returned his attention to me.

  “We will do this thing you ask of us,” he said. “We owe you such a service for freeing us from the halfbreed and her evil companions.”

  Holy shit. This was going to work.

  “But we also ask that the raiders forfeit their lives,” Kark said. “We will execute them as is our way.”

  Goddamnit. I was the evil dungeon lord. Why did everyone else have to be so fucking bloodthirsty?

  “I need them, too,” I said to Kark. “I know it’s an honor thing for you, but there has to be another way to satisfy your grudge.”

  Kark’s gray face turned the color of a ripe tomato and his eyes bulged so far from their sockets he looked like a Chihuahua who’d gotten into a bad batch of meth.

  “They shamed us!” he shouted, and his people grumbled their agreement like a chorus of avalanches. “We will never be able to show our faces amongst our people again.”

  Sweet Christ, I was glad I didn’t have any honor. That word seemed like a very lame excuse to stick your dick in the wringer every time you felt insulted or got your feelings hurt. If Kark was so hung up on being able to return to his people with his head held high, I might have another solution.

  “All right,” I said, “if you’re so worried about your honor, I think I can restore it for you. I know you’re super pissed that you got dragged off from your caves or mines or wherever the fuck you live by the half-orc and her buddies, but what if you could go back home loaded down with treasure so fine your people will think you killed a dragon?”

  “Big words,” Kark said. “But if you had that much wealth, why would you come to us? You could hire the finest craftsman in all Soketra to train your people and mercenaries from the most renowned companies in all the land to do your fighting.”

  “Because, without you, I can’t get that treasure,” I said.

  My words sank into Kark’s thick skull, and I watched his balls grow two sizes when he realized just how much honor he would gain if he could let this grudge go. He’d be able to tell his people that he had saved Lord Rathokhetra, a renowned dungeon lord who would hold all of Soketra in terror for generations. He’d have enough treasure to set himself up in big pimpin’ style and be sure that his wife or wives or girlfriends never wanted for anything. Kark might’ve had his honor besmirched when he got stolen away from his people, but I’d just handed him a chance to return home as the biggest swinging dick in all of dwarfdom.

  The dwarves went back into a huddle to discuss my offer. Kark argued vigorously to accept what I’d put on the table, but a few dwarves wagged their beards in violent disagreement. That went on for a few good minutes before Kark came back to me with eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

  “The blood price must be paid,” he sighed. “Death calls to death, and we cannot allow the crimes of the raiders to go unpunished. If you can satisfy us on this point, then we will serve you as
well as we are able.”

  I frowned down at the dwarf, and he swiveled his eyes away from Delsinia’s as if embarrassed that he’d even asked me to slaughter Charlie and her people. Fortunately, I’d planned for this.

  “The raiders have wronged you, and I accept that a price must be paid for the loss of your liberty and honor.” Charlie started to squawk in protest, but I thrust Delsinia’s hand behind her and raised a finger to silence the half-orc. “But it is not justice to slaughter all these people to satisfy your blood price. You may have one of the raiders.”

  I guided Delsinia’s body to ease Mohawk onto the ground between the dwarf and her.

  “This one.”

  Kark tugged on his beard, glanced over his shoulder, and waited for the judgment of his people.

  The holdouts gave him slow, grave nods.

  Thank fucking God something had gone right.

  Without a word, Kark grabbed one of Mohawk’s arms, dragged her to the magma pool, and shoved her over to its jagged edge.

  Then the bloodthirsty little fuck kicked Mohawk’s feet over the stone lip and into the magma.

  Mohawk came awake with a soul-rending scream of naked agony. She tried to pull her feet out of the bubbling magma, but Kark held her shoulders fast. Her struggles did nothing but drag her body deeper into the molten stone, and her screams clawed at the cavern’s ceiling with increasing desperation.

  “Do not look away,” Rathokhetra commanded me. “Never show weakness to mortals.”

  It was a tough thing to watch, but I kept my eyes on Mohawk until the last tufts of her ridiculous peacock hair vanished in foul-smelling bursts of smoke. I’d killed before, out of rage, for justice, and out of the simple need for survival.

  But this was something else. Somehow, turning Mohawk over to be executed by Kark felt more intimate than the deaths I’d delivered with my own hand. Something in me had changed, even if I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

  Kark reached out a dirt-stained hand, and Delsinia took it.

  “We will do this thing,” he said. “For you. But if the half-orc crosses us, we will kill her and all of her people.”

  Those were big words for a short guy in chains, but I had no doubt Kark and his buddies would try to make good on them if the raiders gave them an excuse.

  “All right, let’s get this show on the road.” I had Delsinia shake Kark’s hand vigorously to seal the deal.

  “Free them, Charlie,” I commanded.

  “We’re just going to turn them loose?” she asked apprehensively. “What if this was a trick and they attack my people?”

  “Remove their chains,” I said. “I trust them a shitload more than I trust you. Unlock their chains and give them back whatever gear you stole from them.”

  “You’re sure about this?” the half-orc asked.

  “Every bit as sure as I’ve ever been about anything,” I said.

  Charlie spat orders at her people, who moved cautiously toward the dwarves. The raiders were clearly unhappy about this turn of events, but no one else took a stab at Charlie, so I guess they were on board.

  While her people freed the dwarves, I went over the plan with the half-orc and made sure that Zillah and Delsinia understood what came next.

  “Are you going to leave again?” Delsinia asked. “I would like to spend more time with you.”

  “I’ve got a lot of boring work to do before morning,” I said. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Keep an eye on these dorks. I don’t want to come back and find this cavern littered with dead raiders and decapitated dwarves.”

  “They fear you, not us, my love,” Delsinia said. “But I believe our presence will be enough to subdue their more violent desires.”

  “Let me know if you have any trouble,” I thought to Del and Zillah. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  With a truce in place between two groups of people who had every reason to hate me and no reason to trust each other, I returned to my burial chamber and Kezakazek’s warm body pressed against mine.

  I stayed that way for a few minutes and then took Kezakazek to Zillah’s room. I tucked the drow into the enormous bed and got to work.

  If I’d known what a clusterfuck I was about to walk into, I would have spent a lot more time snuggled up with Kez.

  Chapter 13 – Amber Death

  BY THE TIME I’D RETURNED to the Trough Hall, the herdsmen were sacked out in the middle of the room with their flocks gathered around them. They didn’t bother with bedrolls because the sheep were as good as any pillow, and the floor was covered with a spongy layer of soft moss that looked almost as comfy as a mattress.

  One of the herdsmen was still awake, and he just about pissed himself when I suddenly appeared near the hall’s western wall. He gathered his composure and gave me a shaky nod and a fucked-up hand gesture I supposed would pass for a salute.

  I nodded back but wasn’t interested in conversation. Before the sun rose, I needed to forge a path between this chamber and the raiders’ camp. It would be a challenge, but I was confident I could pull it off. What had taken Zillah and Delsinia a day’s travel through the winding tunnels of the Great Below I could accomplish in a few hours.

  And then the real fun would begin.

  The arrowhead still floated right in front of my core, and its tip was still aimed in the same direction. I double-checked my orientation, then faced the western wall of the Trough Hall and walked straight toward it.

  A tunnel formed around me as I moved, ten feet on a side and ten feet tall. Now that I had plenty of passage space to play around with, I saw no reason to make it any narrower. The goats would need the extra space for their carts.

  Crafting the tunnel wasn’t difficult, but it was a pain in the ass. I would occasionally open the passage into the wall of the chasm or beneath an underground stream. When that happened, I’d have to back up and reroute. My mind wandered as I carried out the tedious task before me, and I found my thoughts mulling over the coming battle.

  The tax collector had a bigger army and could write off losses that would cripple my team. On the other hand, if I didn’t engage his army on an open battlefield, his forces would be at a serious disadvantage. Soldiers were trained to fight like mad dogs when their enemies were in front of them, but no one told them how to deal with a sneak attack or unorthodox tactics.

  My forces had the exact opposite training.

  The raiders were trained killers used to fighting in the narrow confines and darkness of dangerous dungeons. The blood gnomes were too fragile and weak to survive a stand-up fight, and a decently armed man could hack down five of them in the light of day. But once the sun went down and the shadows came out to play, those skinny little monsters filled the night with hatchets, knives, and teeth.

  Lexios was a devoted servant of his king and the Kingdom of Kyth, but I was willing to bet that his troops would panic and their morale would plummet if a cannibal attack took down their buddies in the middle of the night.

  And my guardians, well, they were masters of fighting in dungeons.

  Lexios and his men had no idea how bad things could get.

  But they were about to find out.

  Of course, I still didn’t have an exact idea of what Lexios was packing. Zillah and Del said they’d heard a thousand men were on their way, but I didn’t have any confirmation of that number. There might very well have been only a hundred dudes out there, and what I had on my side could wipe the floor with that many soldiers. But there could just as easily be ten thousand trained killers under Lexios’s banner, and there was nothing I could do that would defeat an army that large. No matter how creative I was, no matter how powerful my small number of heroes was, sheer numbers would eventually grind us down.

  There were too many variables and not enough information. For the moment, the best course of action was to concentrate on what I knew and not what I suspected.

  And all I really knew was that I needed a tunnel from the goat farm through the Great Below
to the raiders’ camp.

  “One step at a time, Clay,” I told myself. Rathokhetra grumbled at the name, but I didn’t give a fuck. I carried his title because it had the weight of a big hammer behind it, but that wasn’t my name. No matter what anyone thought, I was not the original Rathokhetra.

  “You keep saying that,” the dead tyrant rasped. “And yet, you keep taking the same path I would have walked.”

  “Fuck you,” I said. Maybe I was whistling past the graveyard, but I wasn’t going to let him score an easy point off me. “You would’ve killed a bunch of those people back at the raiders’ camp before you even tried to negotiate.”

  “That would not have been a successful strategy,” Rathokhetra said. “I would have done just as you did—offer up a liability to satisfy the other party and then cement the agreement. I would not have promised the dwarves such riches. Their freedom alone would have sufficed to secure their compliance.”

  Now I remembered why I didn’t like to be alone. The longer I spent by myself, the chattier old Rathokhetra became and the more sense his asshole comments made.

  “I didn’t give them anything I couldn’t afford,” I said. “They’re going to train our blacksmiths to make better weapons and armor, so my soldiers can stand up to whatever Lexios brings to the battlefield.”

  “You promised them treasure,” Rathokhetra said. “Enough to satisfy a dragon, if I remember correctly.”

  “That?” I laughed. “What does gold matter to a dungeon lord?”

  A cloud of dubious suspicion rose from Rathokhetra’s corner of my mind, but I ignored it for a moment to get my bearings. I had let myself be distracted by our conversation and had gone off course. I had to correct the passage’s direction, which cost me time that I couldn’t afford to waste.

  “You are too confident,” Rathokhetra chided. “You will need more gold than you can imagine to fulfill your destiny. You should spend more time with Delsinia. She can advise you about the ways of dungeon lords.”