She suddenly felt exhausted. As if someone had sucked the life from her. She fell onto her bum.
Over by Utta, the insects flew away. Left him alone. The dope looked around, blinking as if he couldn’t believe it. As if he hadn’t spent the last year traveling with her, knowing what she could do.
Bolton looked at the insects around him, with their spikes pointed at his face. Each one looked longer than a sword and just as sharp.
I’m sorry, Anna thought.
And Bolton wasn’t a dope. He knew what Anna had done. He stared at her now, his face an accusation.
As the monsters flew at Bolton, Utta raised his hand. He made a throwing motion. A gust of wind hit the insects, knocking them off course.
The air around Anna grew even hotter. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. She was choking. She tried to suck in some air but got nothing.
She was dying!
And now she was being the dope. She knew what Utta could do. He hadn’t been sent to the Chosen One School to clean the floors after all.
Utta had absorbed the air and channeled it into the wind, and now she was choking.
But she’d seen him, do this before, and knew it wouldn’t be forever.
Seconds later, she could breathe again.
Utta had bought Bolton a few seconds.
The overseer reached into his satchel. He took out a frosted glass orb and smashed it on the ground. A deafening sound rang out, like someone hitting a sword with another sword. Light flashed, and then it formed an arc over Bolton, Anna, and Utta.
The insects buzzed around now. They flew to and fro. They stabbed at the arc of light, but it was like a big, magic shield. Light flashed every time they stabbed. It knocked them back.
Bolton, getting to his feet, brushed the dust from his shirt.
“I hope you’re happy. I was given that orb as a gift after fifty years of service to the academy. It was supposed to be for my retirement. I could have bought a mansion in the salt lakes for the price it would have gotten me.”
“What do you mean you hope I’m happy?” said Anna, hobbling over to him. Her gammy leg was screaming at her, but she refused to show pain in front of him. “What has this got to do with me?”
“Forget it. You ought to be more grateful.”
“For what?”
“For saving your life, you thankless brat. Even after you chose not to save mine.”
“It was you or Utta! What did you expect me to do?”
Bolton had no answer to that.
She didn’t blame him for being upset. She limped over to Utta, who hugged her. “Thank you, Anna,” he said. “Seems like you’re always saving me.”
Bolton prowled the edge of the light that the orb had made around them. He was feet away from an insect, yet the arc of light made it safe.
“Interesting,” he said. “It looks like we might not just be passing through the wasteland after all. We may just have a reason to stay awhile.”
CHAPTER 9
Reginal led me into the lodge that he and Galatee shared. It had been just months since he’d stopped being chief, but he looked much older. He’d lost muscle mass. He had a limp. So slight you’d swear it wasn’t there. But watch him hard enough, and it was obvious.
It was a lack of purpose. The older you got, the more dangerous time became. Time became an enemy with a sword, and having a goal was like a shield. It stopped age beating on you. When Reginal gave up being chief after his last heart attack, he’d put aside his shield. With no purpose, time had begun to wear him down.
“I hope you know the risk I’m taking, Beno,” he said, leading me past their living room.
I glanced in. I saw a picture frame clamped into an easel. A painting less than half-finished, so it was hard to tell what it was. This was supposed to be Reginal’s retirement hobby. I’d even considered commissioning a painting for the dungeon, just to encourage him. Something really dark. Like, a giant mole creature tearing out a hero’s eyes and using them to see better. Something like that. The problem was that the same picture frame had been in the stand for months now. His brushes were left untouched.
“Here we are. Try not to provoke her, Beno. Don’t be your usual self.”
“Thank you, Reginal. I just need to see her for a few minutes.”
“You’ve earned a few minutes, I’ll admit. The things they’re saying about you may be true, may be lies. But there are certain…facts…that can’t be denied.”
“Facts?”
“The bodies. Your spider monster being caught near them.”
“Spider monster? You know his name, Reginal. Why is everyone doing this? You used to play poker with Gary in the tavern. You’d make up excuses not to pay him when he won. Why is everyone acting like they don’t know him?”
“Perhaps we don’t, Beno. Perhaps we never really knew you either.”
“It wasn’t long ago that you were endorsing me to become chief. Am I to take it that’s changed?”
“Bodies in bakeries. People going missing. Kobolds sneaking into the scene of a murder to perform desecration rituals.”
“Shadow wasn’t…”
“Save it, Beno. Please. Let’s not erode our friendship further. It’s out of respect for the past that I said I’d convince Galatee to speak to you. I have done that. The rest is between you both. My healer says I mustn’t have the slightest stress.”
“I understand. How are you feeling?”
“Years of battle, Beno. Countless duels and fights. And at the end of it all, my own heart is my biggest threat.”
“Well, if you fall in love with a gnome, what can you expect?”
Reginal grinned. “Perhaps Riston is wrong about you, Beno. I don’t know. All I hear is what people say. And more people say it every day.”
“Who is this guy, Reginal? Why is nobody stopping to ask where he came from and why he’s so popular?”
“Riston has always been here.”
“What?”
“He’s always lived in town.”
“No, he hasn’t!”
Unbelievable. I had already figured that Riston was a mage and that his spells involved manipulating minds. But he’d worked his magic into the core of the town. To the point where even Reginal, who had helped found Yondersun, believed Riston had been here all along.
The longer this went on, the worse it was getting. I had to end it.
I’d talk to Galatee. Have one last try at getting her to see sense and help me. If not, Riston had to die.
Reginal paused at the door.
“My favor is done now, Beno. I’ve played the part friendship demands of me. Please don’t ask any more of me.”
“Thanks. Stay well. And keep up with the painting.”
“Pah.”
Reginal pushed the door open for me, and I entered the room, where I found Galatee waiting for me.
And Riston.
Riston, with his stupid beard and stupid hair. Hands clasped, a placid expression on his face. A hint of mockery, but subtle enough he could deny it.
“Reginal, you double-crossing-” I began.
“Don’t blame my husband,” said Galatee. “He didn’t know.”
Riston gestured at a chair. “Sit, Beno.”
I stayed where I was.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot you cannot sit. I forgot you are not like us.”
“I wanted to talk to you alone, Galatee.”
“We’re beyond the point of having a chat,” she said.
I heard the lodge door open, and then footsteps just outside the room. Too many to be just Reginal. Guards. It had to be. Guards with core-whips, most probably.
Though the only window in the room had wooden slats covering it, I saw a silhouette move around the building.
There were guards outside the room, guards waiting outside the house.
It looked like Riston had finally influenced Galatee enough to get her to make a move against me, and not just my monsters.
I needed
to keep them talking for a while.
“I suppose the three of us can have a chinwag,” I said. “See if we can make friends.”
“Friends. Lovely,” said Riston, smiling.
Galatee’s face was stony. “We heard from Mage-Mayor Hardere in Hogsfeate today, Beno. Though why he insists on that bloody title, I’ll never know. Either way, people have been going missing there, too.”
Riston whispered in her ear.
“Yes,” she said. She faced me. “Someone has also been desecrating graveyards. Digging them up. Removing bodies.”
“People have the strangest hobbies,” I said.
“This is no laughing matter.”
“Seems pretty laughable to me. What do you suppose I’d want with a bunch of rotting corpses? They might make nice dungeon decorations, but I wasn’t planning on sprucing the place up.”
“The girl is dead,” said Galatee.
I felt something squeeze my inner core. Just for a second, as though something had reached inside and gripped me.
My mind flashed to the girl crawling out of the shadows. Screaming, but making no sound. Her black eyes. Pale flesh. The corruption working its way through her.
“Cynthia couldn’t help her?”
“May I answer that?” said Riston.
Galatee nodded.
“The healers couldn’t do anything for the girl,” said Riston.
“Right. That’s why you don’t go to a healer. They can’t do anything about wraith corruption.”
“So I had the idea to ask Cynthia, the town alchemist…”
“You had the idea?”
Galatee nodded. “Riston came to me with it.”
I held in my irritation.
Galatee was having her mind toyed with. She was so far under Riston’s influence that she’d arranged this trap. Right now, guards were surrounding the house, waiting for a signal from Galatee or Riston. I was in trouble, but I couldn’t afford to show it. As soon I showed them I was aware of the guards, they’d have no choice but to make their move.
“Fine. What happened when Cynthia tried to help her?”
“The girl responded well at first. She didn’t wake up, but she recovered her voice. She began talking in her sleep. Using a form of hypnosis, we were able to direct her unconscious ramblings.”
“Have you heard of the 50 Knights?” asked Galatee.
“Are they a bard group?”
“The girl kept saying the 50 Knights were coming. Over and over she said it. That they were going to be summoned.”
“The 50 Knights? You’ve lost me.”
“We lost the girl, too. Whatever foul magic you used on her, not even the alchemist’s best brew could cleanse her soul. But before the poor girl died, she told us something,” said Riston.
He was silent. He was waiting for me to ask.
He knew his psyche-magic would never work on a core, so he was trying to manipulate me the old-fashioned way. Using mind games. Power plays.
Underneath it all, this mage was a child. And the worst thing was, I was just as childish.
I refused to answer.
Galatee was the one who spoke. “The last thing she said was that the core did this to her.”
If only I was able to use my essence on the surface.
Right then, I would have spent every last essence point on creating a trap so cruel, so devastating, that people in the far reaches of Xynnar would hear Riston’s screams.
He was using the poor girl to move on his plot against me.
That said it all. The fact that I, a core who was supposed to have few emotions and even fewer scruples, was more concerned about the girl than he was.
In that second, Riston had laid himself bare to me. I saw him for what he was.
Heroes weren’t the best of people. They were selfish. Greedy. Desperate for loot. When things got bad in my dungeon, I’d seen heroes turn on each other. They weren’t nice people.
There were evil people everywhere else, too. In towns. Cities. Even Yondersun.
But Riston had just showed me that his soul was blacker than the lot.
“I think it’s time,” said Riston.
Galatee cleared her throat. She spoke to someone behind the door.
“Warrane?” she said.
The door opened.
Warrane stood there. His three eyes blinked. He was wearing full combat leathers. Reginal, who had first formed the town guards, had made it a rule that guards were dressed for battle at all times. But in this heat, that was a tough ask. So usually, on a day where little trouble was expected, each guard wore a single leather bracer on their wrist in a nod of respect to the rule, without having to sweat every last drop out of their body.
Today, Warrane was wearing full leathers. Chestpiece, braces, and all.
It looked like Riston was trying to work his spells on all my town friends. Reginal. Warrane. Even Galatee, who never been a friend, but at least we’d had mutual respect. Everyone was turning against me, my dungeon, and all the monsters who lived in it.
“Warrane,” said Galatee. “As discussed, I want you to take Core Beno to a cell and keep him there. You all have your core-whips. You know what to do if he gives you any trouble, though I know he cannot use his powers above ground.”
Riston stood up. “Tell the rest of the guards to strip his dungeon of every trap. Seize every creature. Kill the ones who resist. Take the compliant ones to the cells. When you’re done, I want the dungeon gassed, and every entrance blocked up.”
There was a second where nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Galatee glared at Warrane, as if putting her full weight of authority behind the look.
Riston just smiled. He didn’t need authority to get someone to do something.
Warrane pulled a whip from a holder on his belt. The strands coming from the handle glowed white-hot. They made me shudder a little. I’d been lashed by a core whip before. I wasn’t in a hurry to repeat it.
“This one asks that you do not cause trouble, Beno,” Warrane said.
I’d given the peaceful option a try. I’d attempted to reason with Galatee before I did anything drastic. I’d given her and the whole town the benefit of the doubt, knowing that Riston was influencing them.
From now on out, anything goes.
First, though, I needed to get back to my dungeon before the guards had a chance to do anything.
“This way,” said Warrane.
Holding the whip tensed and ready to use, he nodded at the doorway. I floated through it, going past held a dozen guards standing in the cramped hallway. As I went by the living room, I saw Reginal with his back to me, shoulders sagging, staring out of the window. His half-finished painting was out of the frame. He’d snapped it in two.
There were even more guards on the streets. Must have been twenty of them surrounding the house. Half of them had core whips. That said a lot about how serious they were; core whips were expensive, and they were one-use weapons. As soon as they hit me with one, the whip was useless. They weren’t taking chances.
I just needed to buy a little more time.
“Where are my new digs?”
I said. “Somewhere nice, I hope?”
Warrane pointed. Far away from town, maybe a quarter of a mile, was a giant glass box. I could tell it was glass from the way the sunlight hit it. The floor was made of metal. Steel, probably.
That would be my cell, and it was a good solution. The glass would mean they could see me at all times, and they’d probably forged it with some kind of alchemic solution to stop my core senses working. Being on the surface, I wouldn’t be able to use my powers. The second they put me in there, I was screwed.
“This one is sorry,” said Warrane.
I wished I could tell him his apology wasn’t necessary. That right now, his mind wasn’t his own.
The truth was, I was pissed.
“Sorry,” he said again.
He dropped his core whip and pulled out his sword.
; He smacked the guard nearest to me over the head, sending him stumbling into the wall. Before the guard next to him could react, he kneed him in the balls and punched him in the face, knocking him onto his back.
“I think you just lost your job, Warrane,” I said.
“The pay wasn’t worth it.”
The other guards wised up to the fact that Warrane had betrayed them. They sheathed their core whips and drew their swords.
I barely had a second to think.
All I could think was that Riston must not have had control over Warrane.
And that even so, we were screwed. There were still more than twenty guards.
Luckily, I hadn’t come to the meeting with Galatee completely unprepared for treachery. I’m a core, after all. It’s in my nature to expect the worst of people and plan accordingly. It’s pretty easy to do. I’m a terrible person. I just imagine what I would do in any situation, and then pretend my enemy is going to do it.
“Jahn? Cynthia? Maginhart?” I said.
Cynthia the tinker appeared from the side of the tool supply store on the end of the street. Maginhart walked behind her, his claws raking on the dirt.
Sunlight reflected off Cynthia’s tinker goggles. They hid her ratbrid eyes, usually full of shrewdness and cunning, but today taking protection from the sun. Beads of sweat lined her whiskered snout. I hated the sun more than anyone, but I pitied furry beings like her. Yondersun was an unforgiving place for those with masses of hair.
There was something strange about Cynthia today. It was her smell. Metallic, almost. Or maybe not metallic. A little like the air after a thunderstorm. Anyone without amplified core smell wouldn’t pick up on it, but I did.
Given my background in using mimics, I considered the idea that a mimic was at work here. But it couldn’t be. Even if a mimic’s tell is their smell, it was nothing like the one coming off Cynthia.
Hmm. Something to look into, but not right now.
“Is Jahn with you?” I said.
“Yesss,” said Maginhart.
He opened a satchel by his waist and took a core out of it. It was orange and shaped like an overweight star. Dungeon cores don’t have faces, but our aura can project outwards sometimes. Any self-respecting dungeon core likes to portray a smoldering malevolence, but Jahn was different. His aura was cheerful. Happy. Fluffy puppies and rainbows.
Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) Page 118