The Dungeon Fairy: A Dungeon Core Escapade (The Hapless Dungeon Fairy Book 1)

by Jonathan Brooks

  “I…see. I guess I still have a lot to learn,” Shale said after about a minute of silence. “I take back what I said earlier; you’re probably set up better than any other new dungeon I’ve heard of…though I have a feeling you’ll still have some trouble raising the difficulty of your dungeon because of your creature Level handicap.”

  The Fairy Assistant had a point. It was something she was worried about as well, though she was hoping to have a solution for that before it became too much of a problem. “I’m…well aware of that, and you’re absolutely right. I have some thoughts on that, but hopefully it won’t be too much of an issue by the time I want – or have to – do that.”

  At least, I hope so. It all depends on whether my “bad luck” applies to myself…

  Chapter 18

  Sterge hurried to steady the plow being pulled behind the oxen before it could fall over into the dirt, wishing for the hundredth time that they could afford a new one he’d seen in town that had wheels. The one they were forced to use had to be constantly controlled by the hardy Hill Dwarf unless he wanted it to fall over, which was normally fine – but Gussie, their oxen, tended to speed up her plodding pace just when his attention wandered. It was almost as if the beast knew when he let his hands grow slack on the handles of the plow, so it was annoying to say the least.

  He grunted at Gwenda as she passed by in the other row he had just plowed, quickly planting and covering the wheat seeds they were going to try to grow before the cold weather poured out of the Wentrylock Mountains nearby. She smiled tiredly at him, which made sense because they had both been working nearly non-stop all day to get everything done; another hour or so should see them finished, at least.

  Luckily, the particular wheat crop they were planting only took a week to grow – which was actually rather slow compared to some he’d heard about in Heftington, the town approximately 25 miles to the north. The village that Sterge and Gwenda – along with 45 other rugged Hill Dwarves, Humans, Gnomes, and even Elves – lived in was technically unnamed, unless you counted “The Village” as a name. That was okay, though, because they didn’t need a fancy name to farm and raise livestock, which was their main profession and source of income. We do a darn fine job of it, too.

  They weren’t wealthy by any means, but they all got by in the southernmost village on the continent of Abenlure; even so far south, the weather was relatively temperate most of the time, though for nearly a solid month the frigid cold from the nearby mountains made working outside nearly impossible. Fortunately, the – thankfully short – winter was the only real drawback from living that far south, and the regularity of the cold season’s arrival and departure every year meant that they could work around it easily enough.

  Sterge hastily wiped the sweat from his brow as Gussie got to the end of the row, where the oxen automatically stopped right where she needed to without instruction. I swear she’s a lot smarter than we give her credit for. As he looked up from his work, eyeing where he was going to start the next row, he caught sight of someone heading in his direction. At first he thought it was Evandurel, one of the few Elves they had farming in “The Village”, but after a moment he realized that it was someone of the ridiculously tall, pointy-eared race he didn’t know.

  He went to grab the simple – yet sharp – iron knife he kept at his waist…and quickly found that he had forgotten it in his cabin. Again. It was rare that they saw any sorts of threats so far down south, with local rabbits eating their crops being the main culprit, so it wasn’t often that he had to defend himself. Sterge glanced around and saw Gwenda at the opposite end of the field, with plenty of space for her to run if something happened to him. Of course, if this Elf striding purposefully towards him was a high-powered Raider, then it probably wouldn’t matter how far away she was; he’d heard that some of them could run as fast as one of the rabbits around The Village, or perhaps even faster.

  Sterge didn’t interact with Raiders very often, though he knew many of their crops went to the small Raider Delving Clan outpost in Heftington; higher-Classed members of the Clan tended to eat a lot more than normal people, so there was always a market for the food they grew. Despite not having much to do with Raiders, he knew to be inordinately deferential to them whenever he saw them, because they were so much more powerful than him – or anyone else in The Village, for that matter.

  “Hello, good sir. Can I help you find something?” he asked, as politely as he could. The Elf looked up from something he was holding in his hands and his eyes locked onto Sterge immediately. It occurred to the Hill Dwarf only after he spoke that the leather armor-clad and bow-wielding Raider wasn’t specifically heading towards him – Sterge just happened to be in his path.

  “What village is this? I don’t have it on my map,” the Elf asked in his race’s normal sing-song voice using Common Tradespeak, though his tone spoke with stern authority – and annoyance.

  “Uh…we don’t actually have a name for our village. It was only developed just over three years ago, and we didn’t really feel there was a need—”

  “Whatever, I don’t really care about your backwoods village. I just needed to know for my report to the Clan what the nearest habitation is to a new dungeon,” the snooty Elf said, before turning his attention to what was in his hands again.

  As he began to walk off, Sterge couldn’t help but ask, “Dungeon? There aren’t any dungeons around here; we’re too far south for any of them to pop up. That’s why this land was literally dirt-cheap to lease from the crown, because there’s nothing of import around here.”

  For a wonder, the Raider stopped and answered the Hill Dwarf, though he didn’t take his eyes off whatever he was fiddling with in his hands. “Normally, you’d be right; I just happened to be in that town…Halflingtown or something strange like that…when my tracker caught the barest hint of a dungeon nearby – one that wasn’t already known. Finding new dungeons is extremely rare, and anyone that finds them first receives a massive finder’s fee; that’s the only reason I’m here in this hole in the ground you call a village.”

  That…seems strange. From all that I know, there’s never been any dungeons closer than 30 miles from here, and none near the Wentrylock Mountains. “I don’t want to say you’re wrong, but there’s never been any dungeons around here.” He paused, then something occurred to him. “Uh…why are you telling me this if there’s a finder’s fee? Not that I have any desire to go looking for a dungeon, but aren’t you afraid I’ll find it first and claim the reward?”

  Dark laughter met his question, which made Sterge shrink back. “Ha! What, you? I could kill you in the blink of an eye and no one would even question me,” the Elf said, causing the Hill Dwarf to take a step back and look around in panic. “I have no need to do that, though, because the reward can only be given to a Raider, not some random dirty Hill Dwarf. Besides, I’m not worried about you finding this dungeon first, because from what my tracker says it hasn’t even emerged yet. I only told you that as a bit of a warning, because if what this tells me is accurate, your little world around here is going to change dramatically over the next few years once word of this place gets out.”

  That didn’t sound good; most of those that inhabited The Village and farmed for a living there were those looking for a simpler life away from all of the Raiders and the Delving Clan that seemed to inundate everyday life in the towns and villages across the whole world of Gairth. “Uh…why would things change?” he asked, but he feared he knew why.

  “Because weak, starting dungeons are extremely hard to find; most of the dungeons we know about are much more difficult because they’ve been around for centuries already. Like I said before, brand-new dungeons are a rarity, so finding one and reporting it can set me up for life with the finder’s fee. Having a relatively ‘safe’ place for inexperienced Raiders to extract Power to improve themselves is literally unheard-of around here. Most newbies need to delve with stronger teams to gain any sort of Power from their dungeon dives, tho
ugh those willing to take a weak person along is rare – or requires a hefty payment in advance.”

  “So that means…?”

  The Elf was obviously now extremely irritated by his questions, as he huffed and gave him a snapped-out explanation as he started walking away. “Because thousands of Raiders are going to flock here for a chance to go through this new dungeon. I don’t have time to talk anymore, I’ve got to find this dungeon before anyone else happens to have a tracker and sees it.” The Elf began quickly walking directly towards the Wentrylock Mountains, continuing his route from earlier before Sterge interrupted him.

  “Uh, you may want to bring some heavy clothing with you if you’re going up there for long; the winter storm is less than two weeks away—” Sterge shouted after him in warning.

  “Mind your business, peasant! I’m a Ranger and I know what I’m doing; I don’t need you getting all up in my business,” he shouted back, without even turning around. Within minutes, the Ranger had traveled halfway to the sparse foothills of the mountain range, where he disappeared behind two hills.

  “What was that all about?” a voice asked from behind, startling Sterge until he recognized who it was. He turned around to see Gwenda looking towards where the Elf had disappeared with a worried look upon her face.

  “It seems as though there might be a new dungeon around here,” he told his oldest friend in the world, before he explained his conversation with the Elf Raider. “This could change everything, Gwenda,” he finished sadly. They were making a great life for themselves there and the introduction of a new element to their lives was likely to have drastic consequences.

  Gwenda was silent for almost a minute before she said anything, and it wasn’t what he expected her to say. “Why would that Elf go up into the mountains right now? Doesn’t he know that the storm is less than two weeks away?”

  Sterge laughed sadly. “I don’t think he’s from around here; I doubt he knows how cold it can get up there. I tried to warn him, but he didn’t want to listen to me,” he said, before turning to Gwenda seriously. “What are we going to do if this turns out to be true?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, honestly. I guess we’ll deal with it if what he said comes to pass, just like we’ve dealt with everything else over the last few years.”

  Sterge could only nod in agreement…because that was all he could do.

  Picking the plow up so that Gussie and him could get started on another row, he clucked to the oxen and the big beast started to move, positioning exactly where he wanted her to go. Smart oxen, strange Raider appearances, and potential dungeon sightings – what next?

  * * *

  They managed to plant, harvest, and secure every cabin and livestock pen in the village before the frigid cold swept down from the mountains exactly 13 days later. Looking at the Wentrylock mountain range through the tiniest crack in his normally well-insulated wood cabin, Sterge could see that they were already covered in thick blankets of snow; luckily, none of the snow made it past the foothills, but the cold temperature that flowed down from there could freeze the parts off a person if they were left uncovered for more than a few seconds. For an entire month, everyone in the village was essentially confined to their cabins and the livestock to their covered and insulated pens. Once a day, Sterge would bundle up so much in thick clothing he could barely move or see and check up on the beasts, and sometimes he would visit Gwenda or one of the other villagers – though walking more than the 50 feet to see to the livestock pen was strenuous in the severe cold.

  I hope that Elf got out of the mountains before winter hit. There’s no way anyone – even for a powerful Raider – could survive that kind of weather for long. Sterge and Gwenda hadn’t seen him leave the mountain range before they were forced to close up for the season, though it was entirely possible that he left from some other section of the foothills and they missed the Raider leave. They hadn’t mentioned their encounter with the Elf to the other villagers, however, because they didn’t want to start a panic unnecessarily; Sterge still wasn’t convinced that there was a dungeon in the mountains where there hadn’t been any before, so they decided it wouldn’t do to worry their fellow farmers.

  The month of extreme cold went by in relative boredom, with Sterge sleeping most of the time to pass the time. He liked to think that he was catching up on all of the sleep he missed during the rest of the year when he had to get up early to plow, plant, or harvest crops – even if he knew it didn’t really work like that. Still, it was a nice “vacation” from the constant hustle-and-bustle that usually consumed the villagers’ lives, even if it was boring most of the time.

  The transition from frigid weather to their normal temperate climate took place over only one day; in the early morning, the cold would still be as intense as it was all month long and over the next 24 hours the temp would gradually increase until it was the same as it was the rest of the year. The snow in the mountains – which had to be dozens of feet deep – quickly melted over the next few weeks and the massive amount of water runoff it created flowed down the massive Lockspeed river nearby, as well as hundreds of other tributaries; there was so much, in fact, that it helped to provide water to most of the southern continent all year long. While most of the water shortly disappeared down the swollen river, there were multiple dams and diversions along the way that maintained a healthy supply for the millions of people inhabiting Abenlure.

  Normally, everyone in the village waited for the temperature to completely return to normal before venturing far from their cabins and livestock enclosures – not much could be done while it was too cold to move around safely. Unfortunately, as Sterge was doing his daily walk to the enclosure to check on the beasts there, something caught his eye as he looked over the empty expanse around his cabin, contemplating the work he would get started on the next day. A formless hump of something was lying in the middle of the nearby field, which was unusual enough to catch his attention; he thought at first it was some sort of animal, but no animals were stupid enough to brave the weather around here, unless they were starving and about to die already. Even the bunnies – who terrorized their crops the rest of the year – were absent as they were warm and safe far underground in their warrens, eating stored food stolen from the village’s plantings.

  He was dressed warmly enough, and the temperature was slowly starting to rise enough that a few minutes outside wouldn’t hurt him, so Sterge went to investigate. As soon as he got within 20 feet, though, he instantly recognized what the shapeless hump was: the Elven Raider that had gone up into the mountains nearly six weeks before. He hesitated before he got any closer, but practicality won out over reluctance to touch what he assumed was a dead body.

  His assumption, as unfortunate as it was, proved to be entirely correct. Sterge managed to drag the corpse of the Elf – which was surprisingly light for one that was over twice his height – back to his cabin, before closing the door and warming up by the fire. When the ambient temperature was back up to normal, he removed his warm clothing and went to look at exactly what he had managed to drag inside.

  The Raider had been dead for quite a while it seemed. Even though the frozen weather managed to preserve his corpse fairly well, Sterge had seen enough dead beasts over the years to tell that at least three weeks or more had passed since the Elf’s death, but it could’ve been even longer. The Hill Dwarf could only assume that the Elf had gotten caught by the unexpected start of the snowstorm and had tried to flee before it got too bad; the swiftness of winter’s arrival was no joke, however, and he probably made it down out of the mountains and foothills, before finally succumbing to the cold in the middle of Sterge’s empty field, only a couple hundred feet from his warm cabin. So close…and yet, so far.

  He hated to think ill of the dead, but he couldn’t help but consider that the Raider was foolish for ignoring his warning. Sterge stared at the corpse that was slowly thawing in the middle of his cabin as he thought about what he should do; thinking a
bout these things weren’t really his specialty, though – he was more of a doer, not a thinker. Someone nearby, however, would know what to do…

  “We’ll have to take him to Heftington tomorrow and deliver him to the Raider Delving Clan there. It’ll probably mean borrowing Dasper’s wagon, but he won’t need it right now anyway. Of course, our work will be a little delayed, but this is the right thing to do,” Gwenda said, shortly after she stepped into Sterge’s cabin. She was the first one he thought of that might have an idea of what to do, and he was happy enough to put her in charge.

  She knelt down and started rummaging through his pockets and pack that was still strapped to his back. “What are you doing?!” he asked, shocked at what she was doing. “That’s not our stuff!”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing…much…from him. At least, nothing of obvious value…like these,” she said, before pulling out a handful of gold and silver coins. His eyes felt like they were going to practically jump out of his head when he saw them; they were lucky if they made a few silvers’ worth of profit over a year laboring in the fields, so what he was looking at was nearly a decade or more of work. Gwenda put them back, though, and started pulling out other things from the dead Elf’s pack.

  Most of it they left alone, but two things of interest were set aside. One was a set of cream-colored paper, finer than any he had ever seen before; drawn in intricate detail was a map of a pathway through the nearby foothills and Wentrylock Mountains, leading towards a spot not too far away – if he was reading it right. There were some words written in what he assumed was the Elvish language because he couldn’t understand them, though Gwenda recognized a few; Sterge had no problem admitting that she was much smarter than he was, because it was the truth and there was no point in denying it.

  “I think this part says…‘not open’? I can’t be sure; it’s been too long since I tried studying some Elven books back in…well, you know,” she said sadly. He certainly did know, but he didn’t want to think about it right now.