Tree Dungeon

by Andrew Karevik

  I questioned the wisdom of calling a deity who was responsible for spreading disease in the world, but I had little choice. If he at least understood the nature of my corruption, I could entreat him for help. Perhaps he would be more reasonable than Agara. There was little time to collect information about Gannix, other than the few anecdotes that Jineve shared with me. She gave me the proper prayer from the book, one to recite at midnight, to call Gannix forth.

  I did as instructed.

  Gannix did not arrive with a flash or a bang. There was no dramatic flair of energy or overwhelming divine power washing over me. In fact, I almost mistook him for being an adventurer. He was the size of a regular human, although his face was covered with a burlap sack. In his right hand he held a pair of human lungs, with a long cord running from the lungs to the sack. One lung was pure and healthy, throbbing as if inhaling and exhaling. The other lung was black and shriveled, also throbbing but decidedly with less energy.

  “An invitation from the stranger,” Gannix said as he emerged from behind a tree and slowly approached.

  I could still feel his presence. In contrast to Agara’s, which was strong, confident and benevolent, I felt as if Gannix…was neutral. His energies seemed to radiate a sense of order, a sense of putting things in their proper place. It was hard to understand, but I could sense that he was far more concerned with organization than with cruelty.

  “I am humbled by your request for a meeting,” Gannix continued. “It is rare that a visitor like yourself would call upon a Lesser Deity.”

  “I am no visitor,” I told him. “This land is my home.”

  “But you are still a stranger. You radiate a different divine energy than the rest of us. It’s faint, weak, but still there,” Gannix said, pausing for a moment so that he could clear his throat. “I have much to do today, so let us be honest and straight to the point. What do you wish?”

  I told him all about my disease. About the corruption created by the necromancer. He listened intently for the duration and asked no questions. I expected him to delight in my agony or gloat about corruption spreading, but he seemed not to care in the least. My plight was of no concern to him, one way or the other.

  “I see,” he said, once I finished my story. “It is within my power to heal you. I am, if nothing, the ruler over all illness, be it magical or natural. But most unfortunately, I simply cannot do so. For you see, all diseases, all sicknesses and plagues, they all play a role in this world. They cull both the strong and the weak. They stop rampant overgrowth of the mortals. They claim the lives of those who would even try, and grab hold of immortality. I steward over all sickness, so that it does not destroy man, but also so that it does not allow them to rule this world entirely.”

  “I am not a man, nor a mortal,” I told him. “Those rules should not apply to me.”

  Gannix shrugged at that. “You claim not to be a mortal, yet here you are, dying. You have divine power, yes but only a seed. A small shred. It would take much more divine energy if you wish to shed the title of mortal.”

  I said nothing. He was right. My destiny was to become the World Tree just like Yggdrasil, but I was still too weak. It looked like I would have to abide by the laws that governed the mortals, at least as far as the gods were concerned.

  “What then would you tell a mortal who wished to be free of this corruption? Is there no hope for him?” I asked.

  Gannix sighed. “I am not without compassion. For every disease, there is a cure. That is the balance that I enforce.”

  “But I suspect you will not tell me what will cure my malady.”

  “You are correct,” Gannix said. “Not without something in return.”

  What could a god possibly want from me? “Tell me what you desire, and I shall ponder it,” I replied after some thinking.

  “There is a small tribe of goblins within you,” Gannix said. “They are godless, for the Great Divines failed them miserably. Torum the Peacemaker could not stem his followers’ lust for gold and now goblin kind is on the decline. But if they were to follow me, erect a shrine in my name, I could grow in power. I could create a disease for them, one that would kill a great many goblin the first generation. But the second? They would become immune. Yet the humans would not have that same immunity. They would become infected and grow deathly ill. Goblins will be able to grow again and the balance between the two races would be restored.”

  “You wish to kill my people?”

  Gannix shrugged at those words, his lungs swaying in the wind. “They will die anyway. All life ends. I wish to give their death a meaning. But I cannot make this disease without a goblin tribe following me. Should you convince them to erect a shrine in my name, I shall heal you instantly. And, if you so desire, you do not need to tell them why they are to worship me. I care not.”

  And with those words, a green cloud overtook Gannix and he faded. His words seemed to echo in my mind for a time. Such a proposition was out of the question, of course. I could understand his desire to create a new disease, to help cull the rampart human growth, but to bring harm to my own kin was out of the question. Fortunately, Gannix had not sensed the small goblin resting in my branches.

  “Did you get the answer?” I asked Ehdrid.

  The shaman nodded as he climbed down, taking off the cloak of blending that had hidden him from both view and magical detection. “Your suspicions were correct. The same gift that allows me to hear your thoughts as words also applies to the divine. But they were harder to pierce, as if he had a shroud around his mind for protection. Mostly, I heard the voices of the ill and the sick, calling out to him for healing. But there was a single thought that rose to the top of his mind, a thought so strong that I could pluck it out.”

  “And what was that thought?”

  “Anger towards the necromancer,” Ehdrid replied. “It would seem that the spell used was, in fact, a spell of Gannix’s own creation. And as such, the only way for it to be undone is for Gannix to wave it away. The necromancer must have entered Gannix’s domain and stolen such a spell in order to use it against you. This shows that Urioc is not to be taken lightly.”

  My heart sank at those words. If the spell was one that Gannix made, then that meant it was entirely in his control. “Surely, there is some other way to end the spell?”

  “Slay the necromancer?” Ehdrid suggested. “The corruption spell is divine, which means it must be maintained at all times by someone else. Usually the gods do so, with their great power to think about thousands of things at once. But Gannix did not grant this spell as a prayer, Urioc stole it. So, he may be the one maintaining it. Or perhaps a slave of his.”

  My plan had always involved killing the necromancer for what he had done. This would just increase the speed at which I did it. “Are you certain killing him will work?”

  Ehdrid sighed at that and leaned his head against his staff. “Not in the least.”

  “Still, we must try,” I told him. “We must find a means to lure him back here. Then, I shall set all my resources against him.”

  “Are we not going to speak about the guaranteed method of healing you?” Ehdrid asked. “That would seem the better option.”

  “I cannot allow anyone to bring harm to your people, “I replied. “You have been my loyal allies and servants. You are as kin.”

  “Yet…” Ehdrid mumbled. “All goblin kind are kin to one another. If I were to raise the altar here, a shrine for Gannix, it would benefit all of my people for generations to come.”

  “You would pay the price? Allow your own tribe to suffer needless death and misery?” I chided. “Disease is no way for anyone to die. There is no glory in sickness.”

  “There is no glory in slaughtering trembling goblin children either,” Ehdrid said. “But the humans still do so. This would at least ensure that the humans get what they deserve for such acts.”

  “I cannot ask you to do this for my sake,” I told him. “It would violate all t
hat I stand for.”

  “The irony here is that I’m not considering saving you at all,” Ehdrid replied. “But rather I consider the fate of my own people. I must think about this.”

  I said no more on the subject. Perhaps Gannix had known the shaman was there after all. Perhaps the offer had not been directed at me.

  Chapter 14

  The poorly defined “magic school” Jineve had put together was beginning to pay off. The students, unaware of the real purpose of their study, had found a lot more information about this corruption spell. Most of the notes from Urioc had been encoded in a strange language, known as Flaar. Flaar was a tongue of the underworld, where the dead who defied the gods were imprisoned. Servitors, known as devils, tended to this afterlife, ensuring the souls of mortals who were so punished could not escape. They spoke the language of Flaar.

  The notes spoke about Gannix’s spell. Ironically called the Gift of Gannix, it had been created as a way to infect and control powerful beings who otherwise were unkillable. It would seem that Gannix once had designs to kill another god using this spell but had sealed it away once he had changed his mind. Somehow, Urioc was able to get his hands on it.

  The Gift had an incubation time of a hundred years. As long as the victim was within range of a corrupted vessel, the negative power would seep into their divine energies over a period of time. Destroying the corrupting vessel would slow down the corruption but would not eradicate it. I had been exposed to the Staff’s infernal energies for too long.

  Learning about the length of time it would take for the disease to kill me provided some relief. I had barely been under the influence of Urioc’s spell for a decade. I had plenty of time to solve this problem.

  With this knowledge, I began to go about preparing a plan to slay the necromancer. According to Ehdrid’s analysis, Urioc was not to be underestimated. The man had already stolen magic from a deity, so who knew what his true power was? I did not know if he were aware of my realization. The element of surprise would allow for me to annihilate him rather quickly, but if he were prepared for me, the story would be entirely different.

  He was unpredictable as well. He had only returned one time since our first encounter and briefly. No doubt to check on the progress of the infection. I would have to find some way to lure him back to me, but without raising his suspicions. And on top of that, I had to ensure that my dungeon was fully ready to deal with him.

  I began to develop a new room, one that would be the hardest to overcome, especially for spellcasters. In my time of focusing on methods of defeating them, I came to realize that the greatest power any sorcerer or wizard had was their access to arcane energy. But without the ability to cast spells, what power would they have? Most of them relied on using magic for everything in their lives. I even witnessed spellcasters who used magic to handle the most basic of tasks, such as cooking breakfast in the morning. Urioc would be no different. He might be powerful because of his magical prowess, but what if I took away the magic? What would he be other than a frail little human?

  This room would be circular, with smooth stone walls, walls so thick that it would take a team of dwarves several days to dig through. There would be no exits or entrances to this room. Rather, a teleportation spell would send the victims to the Magekiller Room. Hovering in the center of it would be the source of their demise. A gem of anti-magic. It radiated enough power to cover the entire area, rending any forms of magic useless. Immix, of all people, had been the one to acquire this gem, as a means of preventing the various spellcasters he liked to rob from killing him. A few tweaks, an infusion of divine power from my reserves, and the gem was strong enough to cut off any connection to magic, as long as it was outside of its silver case.

  Before we installed the gem, however, I set about finally using the summoning spells in my collection to create the central piece to the Magekiller Room. I would create two horrible beasts to guard this space. While they would be magical creatures, as I created them with magic, they would also be physical beings. The gem would have no effect on them, for they would only cease to exist once they were killed.

  The first beast I named the Shrevar. Speed was the purpose of this creature. I gave it two long hooks for hands, and two short, taloned legs that would spring it forward. Its head had eyestalks that would sweep in all directions, capable of perceiving the body heat of its victims. It made no sound when it walked, however, able to retract its claws and slowly stalk its prey. It did not need to eat, of course. They would be in a sealed room, perhaps for years without having a target. It killed only on instinct alone. I gave it little intelligence, as I preferred that the Shrevar be quick and violent. Thoughts, the ability to reason, slowed creatures down. A monster that has time to think is a monster that isn’t rushing to slay its mark.

  The second beast was the opposite of the Shrevar. I named it the Hurlic. It was larger, nearly ten feet tall, and was humanoid. This beast, covered in white fur, looked somewhat like a gorilla, save for the razor sharp quills sticking out of its back. The Hurlic was simple, raw strength. It roared loudly, stomped around and was sure to capture the attention of any adventurer in the room. And while all eyes were looking at the big and formidable Hurlic, the Shrevar would launch a surprise attack, quickly killing its target and then moving on to the next one.

  I made the Hurlic a little smarter than the Shrevar. It was able to predict where a target was moving and then intercept it. I made Immix volunteer to train the Hurlic’s predictive abilities because of some crude comments he had carved into my trunk. Over time, the giant beast was able to catch Immix within seconds of seeing him. This was no small feat, as Immix was a capable acrobat and escape artist. Upon catching the target, Hurlic would then squeeze them to death. Of course, both creatures responded to orders from the new Beastmaster, Uguth, preventing them from causing any lasting harm to the bard.

  Uguth had been the most capable of animal handlers in the goblin village. She had been a part of the team that had gone on the cattle raid and proved to be fearless in dealing with the occasional wild boar that would wander into my mouth. I gave her a special whistle, one that would allow for her to put these two to sleep instantly. The Shrevar, unfortunately, had no ability to recognize friend or foe and would savagely attack anyone it saw. It had to be put into a sleep state during the training sessions with the Hurlic.

  Overall, Uguth was enjoying her new work. She was able to teach the Hurlic a variety of tricks, such as using its spikes to climb the round walls and leap out in an ambush. The Hurlic adored her as well. By the second week of training, it no longer needed to be controlled with the whistle. It obeyed every command she gave, without a shred of resistance. I would be creating more monsters soon, and I would want Uguth to train every one of them.

  The whistle would not work once the anti-magic gem was positioned in the center of the room, so everything had to be placed perfectly. But once it was all finalized and ready, I never felt more excited. A great warrior would stand a chance in the Magekiller Room, but one who used magic? They would be annihilated. You could take all of the tools and weapons away from a fighter, but they would still have their instincts, their discipline and their strength. But if you took magic away from a wizard? Well, they would not last long against anything more threatening than a dog.

  Yet, as I finished up the room, I began to realize the sheer difficulty of what I had created. There would still be plenty of adventurers wandering in for the hopes of collecting treasure or the Charm of Recollection. Was this an appropriate test to throw at them? They would be hopelessly crushed by such a trap. I decided that it was time to expand again, but rather than increase the size of this first floor, I would expand upwards.

  I would create a second level, one that was designed to be remarkably harder than the first one. This would allow those who were merely looking for the Charm of Recollection to face the fairer challenges. The second level would be a place where only the truly brave would enter. I
would have to create a suitable reward for passing through this level, something that would give the adventurer greater prestige and glory. But I would need to think about the rest of the rooms. I would have to worry about that later. For now, my main concern was killing the necromancer.

  There was no escape from the Magekiller, as there were no entry points or exits. Instead, I created runes of teleportation, carefully etched into door handles, floors and even in random books in the library. Touching or even looking at the rune would activate it, teleporting the victim to the Magekiller.

  At first, we had to do some testing, to ensure the teleportation effect would work with the anti-magic field. There were problems. The anti-magic shell made it impossible for someone to enter through teleportation; rather they would be fired back out into the world, randomly returning somewhere else in the dungeon. Fortunately, with Ehdrid’s help, I was able to create a dead spot: a single place in the Magekiller that was unaffected by the anti-magic shell. It was a large silver box, but without a floor. It was suspended in the air. The silver would prevent the anti-magic energy from affecting the man-sized box. The victim would be teleported to that exact spot. But, without a bottom to the box, the victim would then fall fifty feet down.

  This would disorient the target as well as ensure that the Hurlic became aware of a new threat. The large beast had taken to spending ninety percent of its time sleeping, so the extra sound would hopefully awaken the monster. Between the two creatures, the chance of a mage getting back up to that silver box would be near impossible. Urioc would not survive this encounter. The only difficulty was in figuring out how to lure him back.

  Chapter 15

  Immix was the goblin to call upon for deception. As a skald and a bard, he plied his trade through lies, both to entertain and to harm. He had proven reliable and worthy of my trust for such a task of luring the necromancer back. Of course, I would not tell him the reason for bringing Urioc back. Immix was a loudmouth and not terribly discrete. I could not risk word of my illness getting out to the rest of the goblins. I needed to be perceived as strong for my inhabitants, lest they grow distracted from their duties with fear about the future.