When the first and second leaves’ bodies weakened until they were as much use as ooze, who would keep the Wrotun society in motion? Who would cultivate the underground crops, mend the houses?
This was the future that first-leaf Godwin saw for his people. Doomed by addiction to immortality.
Unless…
Unless he was prepared to do something else.
Godwin had first tried to persuade his people about his theory, and see if he could convince them to leave the cavern. He had called a meeting to discuss it, yet had barely gotten into the beginning of explaining when he began to sense that this wouldn’t go well.
He could see it on his people’s faces. As he began to talk about the dangers of immortality, standing there in front of them like a preacher, he saw flickers of anger and disgust on their faces.
He knew it then. They were all addicted to it. They would oust Godwin himself before they left the mana springs behind.
So, he ended the meeting abruptly, and he took a different tack. From then on, First-Leaf wore a disguise. He presented himself as a tyrant beginning to lose his mind, a paranoid leader who saw danger everywhere.
He began banishing people from the cavern. It didn’t matter what the reason was; all he had to do was proclaim them to be traitors to the mana springs, and the masses would stand with him.
Every person that the First-Leaf banished, he considered a life saved. They would go to the surface and travel, finding somewhere else to live where there was no addiction to mana.
This was hardly a long-term solution though, was it? He couldn’t banish everyone.
So now, he was reaching the beginning of the final stage of his idea. An idea that began with Galatee purchasing two little cores. The cores would be the end of the Wrotun settling here, if First-Leaf’s plan worked.
CHAPTER 11
I had the beginnings of a plan to deal with my visitors, and it involved more improvisation than a goblin jazz band playing in a back-alley tavern.
Shadow and I trailed the goblin party, getting as close to them as we dared. I realized that although the goblins had a novel way of disarming traps, they had little knowledge of traps themselves, nor the tunnels. They had no map, no direction. Their eyes were open, but they were blind.
Now, I knew for certain that I didn’t have the resources to defeat this party in a fight. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to.
I pulled up my map and pumped .1 essence into it so that Shadow could see it.
“Fascinating,” she said. “I can picture a map like this in my mind, and it’s amazing how similar they are. Ah, a door to the surface is north of us. Maybe I should go and check it, to make sure it is secure?”
“Nice try. Permission denied.”
Our location was displayed halfway between the surface door and the core room. The goblins were currently navigating a winding tunnel that ran parallel to ours.
I pointed to one end of the tunnel, the opening that the party had already walked through. “Can you take me there?”
Shadow grunted in assent. She was getting a little tired of carrying me around, and who could blame her? It didn’t help that I tend to whistle when I think really hard, and I can hold as much of a tune as a deaf badger falling into a box of broken accordions.
Two minutes later, we reached the tunnel entrance. Ahead of me, I could make out the vague shape of the human who had been sent to his death, stumbling through the passageway until a trap of some kind – I couldn’t see what – parted him from his life.
“Poor guy, sent forward as trap fodder.”
“As a core, you placed these traps, no?”
“I can’t take credit for this kill, as much as it would boost my legend a little.”
“Even so, you have sympathy for this man?”
“A spider can still feel bad for the flies caught in his web. As it happens, this wasn’t my web, since I didn’t place the trap. Besides, the human didn’t walk through the tunnel willingly, and I prefer some sport mixed with my slaughter.”
“You want to follow them?” asked Shadow.
“No, we’re done with that. We know that this tunnel runs for around twenty minutes’ walk, and they’re halfway through it. We need to be quick.”
Focusing on the tunnel opening, I gave a command.
Create riddle door.
110 essence points left me, and a web of light appeared over the tunnel, gradually forming into the shape of a door. It was made from dull iron, and it had a bull’s head for a knocker.
Riddle door created!
Essence: 195/380
The bull spoke to me now. “It’s a dungeon core! What a bore. He looks so dumb, it makes me glum.”
Shadow stepped forward before I could say a word. “You dare talk to your core this way?”
I was surprised that the kobold escape artist had defended me, given she had only reluctantly accepted her place here in the dungeon. Truth be told, I knew that she hadn’t stopped plotting to escape. That’s the thing with escape artists, you see; you can’t trust them.
The riddle door yawned, spreading its bullish mouth wide. I knew better than to get into an argument with it. Disputes with riddle doors just go round and round in circles.
“Let’s see. We need a riddle for you. Ah. It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening.”
“What?” said Shadow, inexplicably alarmed. “What manner of creature walks on two legs when the sun rises, yet has three legs at sunset? Tell me, core!”
“It’s a riddle, Shadow. You don’t take it literally.”
“A riddle?”
“Yeah, a riddle. A question or statement phrased as to require ingenuity to get its meaning.”
“I don’t care for riddles, Core. I prefer plain speech. What is this two, four, three-legged creature?”
I looked at the riddle door. “Well?”
The bullhead snorted. “This door doesn’t know and doesn’t care, wishes you’d walk down there.”
“Stupid damn riddle doors,” I said. “The answer is man.”
“Man?” said Shadow, growing so confused that she was actually angry.
“Four legs in the morning, means when he is a baby and he is crawling. Two legs at noon, when he walks normally. Three legs in the evening means his old age, where some people must use a cane to walk.”
“Pah. This is silver-tongue speak. No kobold would enjoy such a tricky way of talking.”
“Well, that’s the riddle we’ll use. It’s a little too easy at present if this plan is going to work. I need a riddle that the goblins can’t guess.”
This was the problem.
See, here was my plan. I was going to place a riddle door here, and one at the opposite end of the tunnel. If the riddles were tough enough, the goblins wouldn’t guess them, and the doors wouldn’t open. They’d be trapped in the tunnel.
Why don’t they just bust the riddle door open? That’s what some of you might be thinking, given there was a goblin with a warhammer not far away.
There’s something about riddle door construction that stops this. Essence is woven into the wood or iron, reinforcing them at their innermost level. Only an incredibly high-level hero would force a riddle door open.
This meant that either they died of starvation or thirst trapped in the tunnel, or I killed them by some other means. Hopefully, the riddle doors would hold.
But there was a problem; I had to play fair. A riddle door would only work if you gave it a riddle that was logical and solvable. Otherwise, I could keep it shut by making up a nonsensical word that the goblins couldn’t even imagine.
So, there needed to be a riddle and a logical answer. You know, the kind that made you go ah yes! once you heard it.
However….
This was where I would rub my hands together if I had hands that anyone could see.
“Shadow,” I said. “Can you translate the riddle into kobold please?”
“Excuse me, Core Beno?”
“The riddle I told you, and its answer. I’d like you to translate it into the kobold language in just a second.” I spoke to the bullhead now. “Riddle door, here is your riddle. Go ahead, shadow.”
Shadow spoke the riddle to the door. To me, her words sounded normal because I was able to understand the languages of all creatures made in my dungeon.
To the goblins, though, and to their hero slaves…let’s just say I would be surprised if any among them spoke Kobold.
See, the riddle door rules say that I have to give a riddle door a logical riddle and a logical answer. They say nothing about what language it should be in.
Feeling more optimistic, I had Shadow carry me along the tunnel parallel to the Seekers, and then we headed east a few paces until we reached the tunnel opening the Seekers would emerge from when they walked the length of the passageway.
Here, I placed a second riddle door, this one with a cockatiel’s head for a knocker, and had Shadow give it a riddle in Kobold.
With that done, I was 220 essence points poorer, leaving me with just 85. But, the Seekers were trapped. It would be ten minutes before they realized it, but they were trapped.
“Let’s head back to the core room,” I told Shadow. “Thanks for your help, scoutmaster.”
“Scoutmaster?” she said.
“Yes. I will need to create more scouts in the coming days, and they need a leader.”
“Well…thank you, Core Beno. It is an honor.”
CHAPTER 12
Goblins and people take a long time to die, especially when you have to listen to them do it. The phrase a watched cauldron never bubbles never seemed to apt.
This might sound callous if you’re not accustomed to mass slaughter, but it isn’t quite so bad. Honestly, it isn’t.
Anyone who goes into a dungeon knows the risk they are taking, and every dungeon dweller has a right to defend their home. Especially when their own second life is at stake. If Jahn or I failed, we’d both be ground to core dust by First-Lead Godwin, and the Wrotun people would be in trouble.
One thing you learn as a core is that life runs in cycles, and life and death are two meeting points. One cannot exist without the other. Take one away, and the circle becomes misshapen.
This was what the Wrotun were doing, in a way. They had taken the death part of the circle and used the mana spring to wrench it free, pulling it further and further away so that their circle of life and death probably looked more like an egg.
For a while, I listened to the Seekers discussing the riddle with one another. As I suspected, none of them spoke Kobold. Riddles are annoying at the best of times, but ones written in another language?
After they realized they wouldn’t open the door that way, they resorted to force. Their bard played a song on his tambourine, using his lyrics to form a spell that he blasted at the door.
Nothing. Not even the bard’s best power ballad would open it.
The bigger goblin took a breath and swung his warhammer at the door again and again, the sound ringing out through the dungeon.
Nothing.
The ranger goblin, with his squirrels climbing over him, didn’t appear to have tried anything. But then, rangers are fairly useless in a dungeon, aren’t they? I don’t even know why they brought him.
Finally, I felt a little more assured that they wouldn’t break through the door and come looking for me, so I focused on other things.
I wondered if I could free the humans who the goblins had used as trap bait. It was clear they were slaves or prisoners, since you wouldn’t force an equal to walk into a trap-strewn tunnel.
How would I do that, though? I thought about opening a riddle door and calling the humans over, but that was just as likely to get the goblin’s attention.
The other option was to speak to them all. Try and broker a deal with the goblins that they would release their prisoners if I let them leave the dungeon. That, however, went against everything I stood for, every principle that the academy had hammered into me again and again.
I had already let someone flee one of my dungeons. If I did it again, I would start to get a reputation.
Still, I couldn’t help but think that not only was freeing the humans the right thing to do, but it could be useful. They would have information on the Seekers that the Wrotun could use. It was that line of thinking that made me act.
In my core room, Warrane was sitting on a chair I had allowed him to bring in. He had a blanket draped over his knees, since this place must have been draughty if you could feel such things, and a pile of books by his feet.
“Warrane, I need you to go fetch Galatee,” I said.
“This leaf is glad to have something to do,” said the boy.
Then, I heard a voice.
“Why fetch what is already here?”
Two figures walked into my core room. First was Galatee, and with her was First-Leaf Godin. Galatee seemed a little tense, but that was nothing to how First-Leaf Godwin looked. His gnome eyes were redder than forge coals, and his skin seemed even more shriveled around his face. He looked like he was clenching his jaw, too. If there was ever a gnome in need of a massage, it was him.
Godwin walked around my core room without a word, and then through the tunnel to my essence room, his staff rapping on the stony ground.
“Seekers arrived,” I said to Galatee. “I didn’t expect them so soon.”
“Neither did we, Core Beno. Their last attack was the greatest yet, and they lost many. I had thought you would have time to build your defenses before they tried again.”
“There were only eight of them. Four humans, four goblins.”
“Ah. Their ferrets.”
“That’s what they called them.”
“It is a tactic they employed a few moons ago. Disarming our traps with care was taking them too long, so they found another means of progressing through our tunnels.”
“Seems a little barbaric. Coming from a dungeon core, that says something.”
“They are ruthless people. I believe they buy their ferrets from the cities far to the south, where criminals are sold as slaves. I told the First-Leaf that we should send a party to those cities and recruit the criminal for our own defense, but First-Leaf insisted that we should spend our last fortune on cores. Now, who is this?”
She nodded at Shadow now, who was drawing something on a patch of dirt in the corner of the core room. I looked closer and saw it was a diagram of the tunnels, one that matched my map inch for inch.
An escape plan?
I supposed you can’t change someone’s nature. Of course, she couldn’t leave the dungeon without my permission; the essence inside her was attuned to me, as her creator. That didn’t stop her plotting.
“Shadow,” I said. “This is Second-Leaf Galatee.”
The kobold and gnome regarded each other. Shadow gave a slight bow.
“Welcome to our home,” said Galatee.
A rhythmic thudding marked Godwin’s return now. He didn’t seem like a jovial kind of gnome by nature, but he was especially displeased today.
“I had expected a dungeon core to be a much faster worker,” he said.
I was about to speak when Galatee addressed her elder. “Core Beno has already repelled a Seeker attack.”
“Well, I didn’t quite say that,” I said. “I’ve stopped them, but I haven’t repelled them yet.”
“They aren’t swarming our tunnels, so I assumed you had defeated them?”
“This is why I was going to get Warrane to bring you here. Let me show you. Shadow, could you carry me, please?”
I led them north of the core room, through a winding tunnel, until we reached the riddle door with a cockatiel’s head as the knocker. Muffled voices came from beyond it.
Godwin tapped it with the base of his staff. “A strange construction. It seems like iron, but there is something different, weird decoration aside.”
“This is a riddle door,” I said. “A complex blend of iron
and essence, with an annoying personality. It is with just two doors that I held back a full party of Seekers.”
Strange; I hadn’t planned on saying that, it just came out. It seemed that I wanted to impress the First-Leaf. I guessed it was because of his mage staff and the threat it represented to my second life, that gave me that attitude. Funny what impending death can do.
I addressed both of them now. “There are eight Seekers trapped in this tunnel. Three humans, four goblins. They can’t escape by force, and they haven’t deciphered the riddle that will open the door, thanks to a display of great ingenuity from…never mind. They’re trapped, that’s the extent of it. Now, I could wait until my essence replenishes and then let a few monsters loose in there. Or, we could wait it out. Mortal beings have a pesky reliance on food and water, so they would eventually die. But, I had a better idea.”
“Ah,” said Galatee. “I think I understand. Very clever.”
I liked Galatee. Not only did she seemed much more level-headed than her elder, but she caught on to things quickly. I resolved that she would be my point of contact from now on. I’d keep First-Leaf out of it as much as I could.
The First-Leaf faced the door now. The cockatiel knocker blinked at him. I knew that the knocker could appear on both sides of the door at once, since the riddle would need to be solved no matter where you opened it from.
First-Leaf tapped it with his staff, and the cockatiel gave a squawk.
“Ah, a new face. No time to waste. The goblins behind, they have taken their time. Perhaps you can solve my riddle.”
“What is it?” said First-Leaf.
The cockatiel spoke now. Though I could understand the words, I knew they would be in the kobold language.
“What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?”
“Simple,” said Godwin. “A river.”
Galatee eyed him strangely. “First-Leaf, the language you were talking…”
“It is Kobold. A harsh language, blunt on the ears and very throaty.” He turned to me now. “I am a polyglot.”
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