Also, it was good to know that he wasn’t the only one asked to go to their leadership to ask for some sort of alliance with a dungeon – and that he wasn’t alone in thinking that he wasn’t the best choice to try to broker that alliance. Echo seemed like she would be a good choice, especially seeing as she hadn’t dishonored her family like Gerold had; seeing her fight through the undead dungeon, he knew she had the confidence to face down just about anything and survive, so courage and resolve certainly weren’t lacking on her part. Besides, she was the only Elf among their little crew there discussing plans, so there really wasn’t any other choice.
Violet and Felbar, the resident Gnomes, were also asked to consult with their leaders for an alliance – which they were all too happy to do. Of them all, even knowing just the bare minimum about Gnomes and their culture, Gerold thought they would have the most success. They seemed to be thoroughly enthusiastic about enchantments and their War Machine constructed out of metal and wood. Not to mention the much smaller Deep Diver, which the Dwarf, himself, had used both in the defense of Nurboldar and the destruction of the undead dungeon. If anyone were going to be excited about an alliance with a dungeon, it would be the Gnomes.
As far as the Orcs went…well, Kelerim would be an even worse choice than Gerold was for the Dwarves – as hard as it was to believe. From what he was told, the large Orc force that had destroyed not just one but two dungeons near the local Orc village did it because of Kelerim’s father. There was something about his father not appreciating that his long-lost son, whom he had fathered on a Dwarf some time ago, had killed his other son, leaving some bad blood between them; the reasoning behind it all was a little fuzzy, mainly because he wasn’t paying attention when it was explained to him. While Gerold recognized Kelerim from when he lived inside of the mountain stronghold as a child, he hadn’t really followed what happened to him afterwards. Now, the would-be blacksmith was causing them all sorts of trouble.
As far as the Dwarf knew, Sandra still hadn’t figured out how to help the Orcish people without calling down a crusade against her dungeon.
* There is still a bit to do before you go. For one, you all need a lot of rest, especially after what you’ve gone through. Two, I need to work on your transportation. *
“Transportation? I thought I would just take the War Machine, Violet would take our supplies with the Hauler and wagon, and then just run all the way home,” Felbar spoke up, the confusion and exhaustion plain in his voice. Gerold had to admit that he hadn’t thought much about getting back home; at the back of his mind, he imagined just using one of those giant cats that he had rode on before to get home. The thought of riding a Pegasus again made him a bit queasy; the flight out of the collapsing undead dungeon was enough for his stomach for one lifetime. Added to the fact that with his short legs he couldn’t properly sit on the winged horse very well, and he felt like he was going to fall off every few seconds, he realized that he would rather walk all the way to the mountain strongholds than fly again.
* That will take entirely too long. It’ll be much easier if you can fly all the way there. *
Oh…wonderful. “Uh, I’d rather die than—” Gerold started to say, before he heard Felbar and his translation in his head.
“There is no way I’m getting back onto one of those blasted—”
They both stopped and looked at each other in camaraderie, before the old Gnome started laughing uproariously. Gerold joined in after a moment, the weariness in his bones leading him to giggle at something that really wasn’t all that funny.
Echo, Kelerim, and Violet just stared at the two laughing uncontrollably, and eventually Gerold was able to get himself under control, wiping away the tears that came unbidden to his eyes. The whole situation was in no way a laughing matter, but the Dwarf had to admit that it felt good to release some of the tension he had been feeling after barely surviving the destruction of the undead dungeon.
“I don’t see what you’re all laughing about. Those Pegasi are majestic, if I do say so myself, and I wouldn’t have made it back if it hadn’t been for Starlight…um…3, I think,” Echo said once they had both settled down. Two of the Pegasi the Elf had been using as mounts inside their dungeon destruction mission had been killed, so Gerold could only assume that she had named the one that had carried them out of the collapsing dungeon afterwards.
That made them laugh even harder, though this time their shared mirth didn’t last that long; Sandra had to go and ruin their good time.
* The Pegasi are too small and too slow for what I have in mind. My goal is to have you get back to your capitals in less than a day. *
“That’s…not possible,” Echo protested. “It takes up to 4 weeks to travel all the way there on foot, even running full out. The use of horses can cut that down to 2 or less, as can the use of spells to increase running speeds. Even with Starlight 3, I think it would still take me at least 4 days to reach the capital, and that’s with leaving at first light and traveling until it’s nearly too dark to find a place to camp for the night.”
* Exactly. I aim to find a way to get you all to where you need to go quite a bit faster than that, as well as being able to transport more than one person, as well as some supplies. While I go about setting that up, why don’t you all get some rest. I think some of you are starting to get a little delirious with exhaustion. Kelerim, if you don’t mind, could you stay here for a moment? *
Gerold figured that Sandra was probably referring to him and Felbar, because the thought of lying down in a bed…or anywhere, really…and closing his eyes was the best thing he had heard all day. With a nod to the others, the Dwarf found his way out of the dining area and into one of the connecting hallways between the kitchen/dining area and a blacksmith’s forge. It took a few moments to find the small indentation in the wall that indicated where the hidden door was secreted in the wall; after locating it and walking through another short hallway, he found himself in what Sandra called the VATS. She had explained that the acronym stood for something something transportation system – again, he hadn’t really been paying attention at the time – but all he really knew about it was it was an easy way to get where he needed to go.
Dropping down a hole in the floor, he barely felt the slightest flutter in his stomach at the temporary drop as a powerful jet of air caught him and delicately lowered him to the floor of the next level. Walking to another hole, he dropped down again, feeling his eyes closing even as he was blasted by the supportive air; I guess I really am exhausted. The prospect of sleep was already mentally affecting him, and he was eager to lie down.
Finally, at the bottom of the VATS, he walked through another series of tunnels, a large room that held Sandra in all her shining Core glory – which he waved to as he walked by – and finally to what he was starting to mentally think of as the Dwarven Quarter. It was a long series of rooms carved out of the stone and dirt underneath the wastelands in a long line stretching out for quite a distance. The first room held something that looked like a basic distillery, though it currently wasn’t in use; the next room was entirely empty, acting as a bit of a buffer he supposed, because after that was where his people were living.
In a series of rooms that didn’t afford a whole lot of privacy and were annoying to travel through – mainly because, if you needed to get to the last room in the line, then you had to essentially walk through everyone else’s bedrooms – there were basic beds set up, six to a room. The rooms weren’t small, but they started to feel a little cramped with so many people inside of them; luckily being underground didn’t really bother him – or any Dwarves, really – because most of them were used to living in the mountain strongholds. It was living in the village up top that had been strange to them.
A couple rooms down the line, there were various spaces going off in different directions, as Sandra had added a few things after the original line of rooms had been constructed. Gerold stopped by them one-by-one, as he hadn’t seen them all in use when he fir
st arrived; to make their lives more comfortable, the Dungeon Core had obviously built some things for the Dwarven villagers. It was here that he saw his first residents, which he just realized was strange because no one had been in the first two bedrooms as he walked through.
In one room, there was a fountain of periodically spouting, crystal-clear water that gathered in a stone basin; there was no obvious source of the water, only that when someone approached it – as he watched one of the villagers approach with a simple stoneware jug – it would turn on, shooting a small distance into the air before splashing down in the basin. The water level never really seemed to go up or down, though, so Gerold thought the whole splashing fountain thing was a way for the Dungeon Core to show off a little, while still making something functional.
“There he is! Way to go, Gerold!” the villager woman said after she filled up her jug from the basin and turned around, seeing the tired Dwarf standing in the doorway to the room taking it all in. He didn’t recognize her – he had only learned a few of the villagers’ names the entire time he was there, as the Shieldmen didn’t really fraternize with the residents all that much; there was too much to do in their normal lives to worry too much about socializing. Also, it seemed as though word of his exploits in defeating the undead dungeon had already spread to his people.
Unfortunately, he didn’t feel like he had done a good job; after all, five more Shieldmen had died on their expedition. He couldn’t show or say that, though, because that would be dishonoring them for their sacrifice – there was enough dishonor around as it was.
“Thank you,” he replied, trying his best to seem grateful for her words. “I…uh…need to get going to get some sleep,” he finished lamely, unsure how to get out of the awkward conversation.
“We’ve moved your bedroom to the place of honor at the end of the line of rooms, so that you don’t have to worry about anyone walking through and waking you up,” the still-nameless villager said cheerfully.
“Um…thanks.” Great, even longer to walk. His personal stuff – which was woefully little that he brought from the village when they moved the rest of the villagers – had originally been in the first room after the distillery and empty room, but he hadn’t seen it there. Now he knew why.
Looking at the next added adjacent room, he found what appeared to be a large kitchen and dining room, three times larger than the one he just came from. Inside, three more villagers – two men and another woman – were cooking up something that smelled delicious, but he didn’t stick around to see what it was; besides, he had already eaten all he wanted, so now all he needed was sleep. He did see that, in addition to a massive cooktop, there was a large rectangular oven in the corner that could probably fit at least 20 of himself inside; there was no wood burning, and therefore no smoke, so Gerold could only assume that the dungeon was using its “Mana” to heat it without needing that kind of thing. Which, he assumed, was the best idea; he hadn’t seen a single air vent leading to the surface, so any smoke produced from a fire down below would have a difficult time escaping.
There were a few more rooms that he had already seen before, which were the growing rooms. As he passed and looked inside, Gerold could see the rest of the villagers hard at work with Sandra’s constructs planting neat rows of different seeds; in one room, there was a section of wheat that appeared to have already sprouted and grown, and all it was waiting on was harvesting. It was good that the villagers knew what they were doing, because Gerold would be practically useless if he was asked to help.
His feet felt like they were dragging when he arrived at the last of the bedrooms, and Gerold finally came upon the last of the Shieldmen. They had a room all to themselves, it seemed, and though it was sparsely decorated just as much as the rest, it felt somehow safe and familiar. The five Shieldmen stopped their conversation as soon as he walked in and he paused, worried that they would hate him for allowing the others to die.
Instead, each of them saluted Gerold with a fist banging against their armored chests, followed by a short bow of respect. At first, he thought that they might be mocking him, but after a moment of looking at the seriousness in their faces and demeanor, he realized that they actually meant it: They respected him. Why? I lost all of my equipment and managed to let every single one that went with us into that dungeon die.
“Sir. Would you honor us with the tale of those that gave their lives to see to the destruction of that horrid dungeon?” asked Delarthe.
Ah. I see. Because he had survived, without the armor and weaponry that made them Shieldmen, even, they didn’t think he was neglectful or let others fight his battles for him, leading from the back; no, they saw him as they would a senior member of the Shieldmen, one that was stronger and more capable of surviving dangerous missions. It was the same way that Gerold would look at someone like…Bregan. If he saw Bregan go into a dungeon with a dozen other Shieldmen and was the only one to come out, he would instantly think that there was no foul play, no shirking of duties, and that the Second-shield had done everything he could to keep those that went with him alive.
With a sigh that he was miraculously able to conceal, he sat on the edge of an empty bed. After a moment’s hesitation, Gerold started to regale the Shieldmen with the story of the undead dungeon, describing the exploits and heroics of those that had perished deep down below. What surprised him the most when he was done, was that he didn’t even have to embellish anything; they all really had given their lives and fought with everything they had until the last moment.
“Thank you, sir,” Delarthe said when he was done. “If I may be so bold…you look like you could use some sleep.”
Gerold chuckled. “That bad, huh?”
“Yes, and probably a bath – but you should probably get some rest first; we don’t need you to fall asleep and drown, especially after surviving what you just went through.”
Gerold lifted up his left armpit and sniffed…and almost knocked himself out. The Deep Divers were a bit hot to run around in because they were enclosed and didn’t offer a lot of ventilation, so his stench wasn’t that surprising. Rather than say anything about it – since there was no need because all of the Shieldmen were smiling innocently at him – he just nodded, picked himself off the side of the bed, and moved off to what he hoped was his room.
As soon as he walked inside, he recognized a few of his personal belongings next to the bed where they were left neatly in a pile. With a sigh of relief that he didn’t bother concealing, he collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes, not even bothering to take off his dirty, stinky clothes. A few seconds later, all his awareness of his surroundings faded as his body succumbed to his much-needed sleep.
Chapter 3
Sandra wasn’t freaking out, but she felt as though she should be. Whether she was getting used to the breakneck pace she had been figuratively running at over the last few weeks, or she had become accustomed to literal deadlines in such a short time, the result was the same: she had maintained her calm as she reviewed all that had happened – and what still needed to be done – with those that were most important to her. Violet, Felbar, Echo, and Gerold had already headed off to get some much-needed sleep, because there wasn’t much that needed to be done with them at the moment. The Dungeon Core hadn’t made it an order or anything, but they had all – some of them albeit reluctantly – agreed to act as impromptu emissaries to their people.
As she had explained to them, the increase in speed at which the Cores within a certain distance of the destroyed dungeons could expand and produce Dungeon Monsters was now bigger than what Sandra could contain. The all-elemental-access Core felt responsible for the situation, though, because she started the entire process of the enhancements to the nearby Dungeon Cores, from the destruction of the reptile-based Core that had killed so many Gnomes and were threatening the Elven village. While she had attempted to keep herself from needing to destroy any other Cores after that, the Orcs had basically pushed her to do just that when they took
out the Unicorn and Avian-based dungeons near the Orcish village of Grongbak. Which led her to the next issue, and was why she asked Kelerim to stay behind while the others left.
The situation with the Orcs, unlike the Gnomes, Elves, and Dwarves, was a little more…delicate and volatile at the same time. There technically weren’t any nearby dungeons to threaten the village (since they were destroyed), but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any danger at all. In fact, all four of the lands were in trouble, because of the enhancements from 4 Dungeon Cores being destroyed in fairly rapid succession. Sandra understood the reasoning behind it all, with the Creator not wanting all of the Cores to be wiped out one after another until they weren’t a threat at all (which would allow the races to start warring amongst each other again), but none of the races were at all prepared for what was about to befall them. Especially when she looked at precisely what those enhancements meant.
Any Dungeon Cores within 138 miles of one of the destroyed dungeons would have enhancements
Those Cores’ Areas of Influence are increased by a total of 85% at differing times; 30% increase by 10 days, 60% increase by 25 days, and the full 85% by the time 50 days have passed
Maximum Ambient Mana Absorption directly by the Core increased to 1,000 per hour, up from 10 per hour
The Crafter's Darkness: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 4) Page 3