“You sound like you have a suggestion.”
“I’m a master scribe, Beno. I have served for countless nobles, rulers, businessmen, and not always so that I could write a story for myself. Do you know why almost every court in the land has a master scribe?”
“Because lords love to see their name in print?”
“That’s true, yes. More importantly, though, because most scribes who studied in half-decent colleges learn a valuable skill…”
“How to use four words when one will do? The art of sticking your nose into other peoples’ affairs?”
“Propaganda, Beno. You want to undermine the No-Cores? Then by all means, mimic one of their higher-ups. At the same time, I can also flood Yondersun with so many lies and disinformation about their movement that they’ll hear the gossip all the way in the southern caves. All I need is lots of paper and a quill.”
I really wasn’t doing well at keeping my core chamber as a place where work wasn’t allowed. All day Gulliver and I had made plans in there, and in the evening I found myself alone with Shadow and one of my new mimics. Gulliver, meanwhile, had taken the other mimic to Core Jahn’s Spying Chamber, as we had taken to calling the place.
“So…that’s about the size of it, Shadow,” I said. “That’s what I’d like you to do. How do you feel about it?”
“You would like me to sneak into the home of the most powerful man in Hogsfeate, who I would guess has lots of idiot guards, and then murder him?”
“Murder him in an extremely quiet and clean way, yes. If this is to work, not a sound can be heard.”
“And I must take this blob with me?”
“You heard my plan. The mimic is key to it.”
“If I was suspicious by nature,” said Shadow, “I would guess that you are trying to get rid of me, my Evilest Excellence. We can’t pretend it wouldn’t be easier for you if I was gone, and it wouldn’t cast you in the best light if you had me killed. If I was to die in service to the dungeon, however…”
This was a situation where knowing exactly what to say next was vital. Utter the wrong thing, and this would not work. Shadow wouldn’t take the assignment, and I was stuck if she didn’t. Nobody else in my dungeon had anything approaching her level of stealth skills. It wasn’t as if I could force her, either. I had the authority to issue the order, yes, but this was a task that only had a chance of working if Shadow was completely invested in it.
So, what to say? I could flatter her. I could tell her what she wanted to hear. Tell her that her suspicions were so ridiculous that they were laughable. But then, Shadow was rare for a kobold. She was so astute that she would see beyond any deception.
“The thought crossed my mind to send you somewhere,” I said. “Either on a task that would keep you away from the dungeon for a while, or one that would see you die without me having to murder one of my own dungeon mates.”
She blinked. Evidently, my honesty had surprised her, and she couldn’t think of what to say.
I pressed on with the advantage. “But I’d like to think I’m a practical core, above everything else. You have skills that we need, and despite the indifferent air you try too hard to portray, you care about this dungeon and your dungeon mates in it. I won’t set fire to my house just to get rid of a spider.”
“Then this…task…it is genuine?”
“It is vital, Shadow, and only you can do it in the way I need.”
“It will most likely wind up with my head on a spike. Townsfolk do that to monsters, so I’m told.”
“Only the most barbaric of towns. In some, monsters are positively accepted.”
“And in Hogsfeate?”
“Let’s say that we aren’t the most welcome of guests. That is a risk we have to take. That you have to take. If we can’t deal with Dullbright, it mind end badly not just for you, but for everyone. Gary, Brecht, Maginhart, your hounds. Tomlin.”
“Pah. I don’t care about that stupid gardener.”
“All the same, we need you to do this.”
“And if I do? What do I get?”
Ah.
That was when I knew I had talked her around, because she was no longer asking about my intentions, but looking for a reward. Good. That was something I could work with.
“Get this done, Shadow, and you can name what you want. More knives, more dogs, whatever. I’ll get you a pack of giant wolves if that’s what you desire.”
“I want a voice.”
“Excuse me?” I said, surprised.
“A say in how things are run in this dungeon. You act like you’re a benevolent leader, some kind of progressive master who listens to us. You act like you’re different from the dukes and lords that you and Gulliver seem to despise so much.”
“I am different. That should be obvious.”
“Really? You see, from listening to Gulliver prattle on about all his past jobs with lords, it seems to my little kobold brain that lords risk their men on the battlefield just as you risk us. Do the lords give their people a choice? You might say that they don’t have to become soldiers, yes. Or that they could move to a new land. When you think about it, Dark Lord, you offer us even less freedom than that! We were never given a choice who to serve, where to serve them, or whether our life is ours to gamble with. We have less choice than the lowliest peasant serving under the cruelest lord.”
It was difficult to know where to begin with that.
Anger was my first instinct. A flash of my old human anger that began to well up inside my core. Dulled, but there all the same.
Then I forced myself to try and think about what Shadow said. To ignore what could be perceived as insolence, and to see the words filtered through her perception. Not just hers; but Gary’s, Brecht’s, Tomlins…and poor Dolos. Was there something to what she had said?
“You want a voice, eh?”
“I know what you’re going to tell me,” said Shadow. “You’re going to shout at me and threaten to have me flattened by a boulder or something. I have said my piece, and I said it not for me, really, but everyone else. Threaten me with whatever nasty punishment you can dream up. Order me to go complete my task regardless of what I want in return. I know that you are able to do that, as my creator.”
“You will get a voice,” I said.
“Excuse me?” replied Shadow, surprised.
“You know, some provinces have systems of ruling where the sovereign doesn’t act alone.”
“I’m surprised your academy taught them to you, Dark Lord.”
“Oh, they didn’t. The academy preaches dictatorship, always.” I looked at my rows and rows of bookshelves. “But I have learned about other ways of doing things.”
“What are you offering me?”
“Complete this task, Shadow, and I will set up a council. A select panel of dungeon mates who have a say in dungeon matters. But notice that they only get a say; I will always have the overruling vote.”
“Beno…Dark Lord, I mean. I have to say, this is more than I expected.”
“Then all you have to do is perform as I expect, and things will change.”
Shadow smiled now. Not one of her snide grins or condescending smirks or one of her leers before speaking a withering put down. She was genuinely smiling.
“So… this Dullbright chump, Dark Lord,” she said, saying it without a trace of sarcasm. “Is he a hero?”
“He fancies himself to be. He was one, once. Now, he’s a grass-fed cow with a swollen belly and saggy udders. He rules, but he doesn’t fight. Not well, anyway.”
“He will have lots of guards, Dark Lord. The town will be full of them, too. I will do it under the cover of night, of course, but even I cannot sneak by a town’s worth of soldiers. That is without thinking of how I would get close enough to Sir Dullbright to plunge a dagger in his spine.”
“Don’t worry, Shadow. I have a plan for that.”
Footsteps came from the tunnel beyond the core room. Dainty, lazy steps, accompanied by big, booming ones.<
br />
“Speak of the devils!”
Gulliver entered the core chamber, accompanied by a man with the most glorious hair in all of Xynnar. Gulliver swept his hat and bowed.
“May I present to you, Eric…the barbarian!” He leaned toward Eric. “Sorry, but I realize I do not know your last name.”
“Just Eric will do me. No need for fancy things like surnames. We never had ‘em in my family.”
Shadow was in a crouch position, two knives drawn, in an instant. “He’s a hero, Dark Lord! Want me to gut him?”
“Don’t think I’ve ever been called a blood ‘ero before,” said Eric, rubbing his belly. “And I’ll keep my guts right here, if you don’t mind. Where I can’t see ‘em. Not that I doubt you could finish the job. I wouldn’t want to cross you, little wolf, no way.”
Shadow gripped her knives tighter. “Just say the word, Dark Lord. One word and I will decorate the dungeon with his intestines.”
“Relax, Shadow,” I said. “This is Eric. We met him in Hogsfeate. He was sitting on a log and eating chicken.”
“Nobody cooks chicken like Greasy Jonas in ‘ogsfeate, let me tell you.”
“What is this…muscled chicken eater with magnificent hair doing here?” said Shadow.
“I invited him. He’s going to Hogsfeate with you,” I said.
“What?”
“You were right to ask about how you could sneak through an entire town unseen, and then creep into the governor ’s house and murder him without making the slightest sound or alerting anyone. I had already thought about it, as it happens.”
“Aye,” said Eric. “An’ if you want a job doing right, you come to me.”
“A job?” said Shadow.
“While you’re sneaking through Hogsfeate, Eric is going to start a fire on the east of town.”
“That’s where they’ve stored a delivery of mana lamp oil,” said Eric. “It’ll light up like the underworld, and it’ll have everyone in the bloody town rushing around with buckets. Nothing gets folk moving like her prospect of their homes burning to cinders.”
“Eric informs me that nobody lives on that side of town, so there’s no danger to innocents,” I said.
“That’s right.”
“So I am to travel to Hogsfeate with this…this…”
“This bloody barbarian? Aye, you are,” said Eric. “But trust me, whiskers. By the time we’ve done this business, we’ll be the best of friends.”
“I do not trust him,” said Shadow, looking at me but not caring that Eric could hear.
“You don’t need to trust him. Trust the gold that we have promised him. He’s a barbarian, Shadow, not a hero. A very subtle, yet important, difference. He doesn’t care about good or evil. He doesn’t care who he kills, or how. He cares only for gold.”
“Not true, gem. I care about lots of things. Even barbarians have a place to call home. We don’t sleep in hollowed logs and spend our life alone until we die. It just so happens that I like to keep my work and my life separate, you hear? An’ that might translate to me comin’ across as a brute, but that’s the way things fall.”
“Even so, you are loyal as long as gold crosses your palms, yes?” I said.
“You won’t find a man in the whole of Xynnar who can say Eric doesn’t follow through on a pact made with gold,” said Eric, tossing his hair in a strangely mesmerizing way. “At least, none alive enough to speak the words.” He laughed at his own joke.
Gulliver, grinning, slapped him on the shoulder. “Eric is a riot, let me tell you. I have it in mind to follow him for a while after this, Beno. The adventures we’d have…the things I could write about…”
“So we’re clear, then” I said. “Tomorrow morning, Shadow, the mimic, and Eric will go to Hogsfeate. Don’t take a wagon; we don’t want any witnesses to your journey. You’ll get there in a few days if you travel fast, and then you should wait until nightfall before doing anything.”
“Looking forward to it,” said Eric.
“You remember what to do, Shadow?” I said.
“I think 'kill the governor' is a rather simple instruction.”
“Not just that. Do you remember what comes after? That’s the key here.”
“I remember.”
CHAPTER 12
“Ah, you must be Core Beno! You and I seem to be enjoying the same amount of popularity in Yondersun, na? At least they only whisper about me, rather than holding up signs and chanting for my removal.”
The Silkers’ merchant guild representative wasn’t what I expected. I suppose I anticipated her to be like most merchants, desperate to show off her wealth by weighing down her fingers with gold sparkling trinkets.
Instead, Bessa Gassar was an unassuming orc of slender but athletic build. She wore a thin sleeveless shirt and shorts, making her look like a member of the team of geologists who Reginal had permitted to conduct research on the Yondersun outskirts in exchange for gold.
Gulliver could have learned a lesson from her, since she managed to carry herself well enough without having to wear silk shirts and winkle pickers. She had shaven her head bald, and her green skin was burned in places. This meant that although she’d prepared for the wasteland sun, she wasn’t completely used to it yet.
“Nice to meet you, Bessa. I hope you don’t mind me coming unannounced.”
“Who would be here to announce you? This is a room in the Scorched Scorpion, not a Silker guild house, na? Between me and you, it’s just the way I like it. All that pomp and vanity really tugs on my tits.”
“You’re enjoying your time in Yondersun, then?”
“I’d enjoy it a lot more if I knew I was going to get what my masters want.”
“I heard that it is never a matter of if the Silkers get what they want, but when.”
She laughed. “You believe all that fisherman’s gossip? That we drown nobles in gold to get what we want? That we shove our hands up leader’s rumps and play them like puppets? That we big, bad Silkers have infiltrated the very heart of society?”
“I’ve yet to hear a different explanation for your guild’s influence. Nobody gets to the top without climbing over a pile of fools and corpses.”
“You have pierced my disguise, Core Beno. I admit it. I am here in Yondersun to suck the town dry and then eat all the children. Satisfied? Now that the air is clear and we can speak with the utmost honesty, what brings you here?”
It was funny, but lately, I was beginning to see no reason to lie about anything. I had tried playing games of subterfuge and hiding my meanings beneath rhetoric, but it bored me.
“I need you to procure something for me,” I said.
“Interesting. You cores can make things out of essence, can you not?”
“You’re well versed in cores.”
“I did my research before I was sent here.”
“Then yes, we can. But we can’t create absolutely everything.”
“I suppose all powers have their limits,” said Bessa. “What do you need?”
“Something called oscil. As much of it as you can get.”
She scratched her chin and furrowed her brow as if I had just laid the most complex problem in the world on her lap. “I would have to get a message to our guildie who handles the procurement and trading of chemicals and alchemical ingredients. Of course, getting a message out of this boundless expanse of rock can take days. Weeks, even. And then waiting for a response, placing an order…a time-consuming business.”
“I think the Silkers’ communication is a little more advanced than climbing to the roof and farting out smoke signals. You have a way of contacting the rest of your guild. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
“It seems you have done your research too, Core Beno.”
“No, it’s just common sense. Enough games, Bessa. Tell me if you can get me some oscil, and how much it would cost.”
“Yes, we can get it. We can get anything. If you desire the heart scales from a golden dragon it is but a matter of mak
ing the right offer.”
“What do you need in return?”
She straightened up. “Now that, Core Beno, is the most interesting question I have been asked in all of my time here.”
A kobold shuffled into the core room. Wearing a stained shirt sporting all kinds of burns and blemishes, he looked like he’d just fled from a house fire. There was a nasty red rash on his right cheek.
“Maginhart,” I said. “Good to see you! Has someone been trying to grate your face?”
“An accident, Dark Lord. Sssuch thingsss happen in alchemy.”
Was I imagining it, or did Maginhart look a little taller, a little brighter in his eyes, perhaps? It seemed that his new assignment was agreeing with him, despite the injuries.
“How’s the study, Mag, pal?” asked Gulliver. “Can you turn copper into gold yet? Because we might need to have a little chat.”
“Sssuch thingsss are a childisssh notion and an insssult to the pursssuit of real alchemy!”
“Alright, calm down. I was only joking.”
“Cynthia told me to take alchemy ssserioously, isss all, Gulliver. Ssshe told me horrible ssstories of thossse who didn’t. I wisssh to keep both my eyesss and all my limbsss intact.”
“She tells me that your tinkering studies are progressing tremendously, but you’re falling behind in alchemy and artificery,” I said.
“Tinkering isss my favorite, Dark Lord, I will not lie. But I try with alchemy and artificery, I ssswear on the dungeon. Sssometimesss the mathematicsss and formulasss make me feel like Cynthia isss sssqueezing my brain.”
“She didn’t accept you just for your charming company. At least, not solely for that. She sees something in you, Maginhart, and I do too. Once you earn your full apprenticeship in alchemy, artificery, and tinkering, you will be a great asset to the dungeon.”
“I hope ssso, my lord.”
“Did you bring what I needed?”
“Yesss.”
Maginhart placed a bundle of cloth on the ground and unraveled it. In the middle was a little red ball the size of a marble.
“Did Cynthia ask why I needed this?” I said.
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