It was Jineve. She had cast a powerful spell of transformation, one that would amplify her own magical energies, as long as she had several spellcasters’ souls tied to her own, to act as a form of magical batteries. I recognized the spell because it had been one of Urioc’s custom creations. She had read it to me when we had been searching for a cure for my malady. We had thought maybe the spell was an offshoot of the battery incantation.
No doubt Jineve was here to collect the amulet from the king. His entire camp had been decimated in a short period of time, despite how prepared they had been for an attack. This did not bode well for the king. I wondered if perhaps I should inform him of what was to come but decided against it. What happened outside of my mouth was not my realm and not my concern. Jineve was free to do as she wished now that she was a free agent. And if her obsession had led her to challenge a king who showed zero concern about her designs, so be it.
King Soren emerged from my mouth, loudly shouting about needing an ocean’s worth of ale. His boisterous shouts were cut short once he took notice of the devastation. The camp tents were burnt to the ground, a few patches of grass were still smoldering. His loyal soldiers and retinue laid dead on the ground, at least those who had not been disintegrated instantly. Floating above him was Jineve, starting down at him, her burning red hair flowing upwards.
“Grant me the amulet now, Soren, or I shall end your life where you stand!” she cried out.
Soren let out a laugh. “And who are you? Some third rate sorceress? You know who you just killed? An army of new recruits. I’m not the kind of king to bring the best of the best to keep me safe, not when my own people deserve that protection. How does it feel, murdering a bunch of greenhorns in cold blood, you monster?”
Jineve cackled, the flames around her growing more intense. “So be it then.” And with that, she threw a fireball down towards Soren. It flashed bright red as it crashed into him. When the light faded, he was still standing, apparently uninjured. The necklace around his neck was glowing bright white and I could see a thin film of protective magic around him.
“Oh my, someone trying to kill me with arcane magic? That almost never happens,” Soren said, shaking his head. He drew his sword and waved it. “Face me on the ground, you coward!”
“You think your little trinket will protect you? Observe!” she screamed as more magical energy surged through her entire body, arcing a stream of magical fire at Soren. He raised his sword up to block the fire. The flames crashed against the blade, but separated around him, as the thin film of energy protected him from the attack.
The flames vanished, and Soren gasped for air, staggering a little. It would appear that the necklace was tied to his stamina, the longer the shield worked, the more drained he became.
“My my, you look exhausted,” Jineve taunted. “Last chance. Grant me the amulet or die by my hand.”
Soren growled as he drew out a small sling from his pouch. “Not a chance in hell,” he said as he spun the sling above his head, building momentum.
“Really? You mean to slay me with a rock?” she mocked. Soren said nothing and fired the projectile at her, a small, smooth stone. It sailed towards her rather fast, but not nearly as fast as a sorceress who was fueled by the magical energies of seven other people. She caught the rock in midair and laughed. “So much for a ki—”
She was unable to finish her sentence, because she was simply gone. The rock flashed blue and she had vanished.
At once, I felt a presence within the Magekiller Room. My focus shifted to the inside to see Jineve, now collapsed on the floor with a broken leg, trapped within a room that cut off all magic.
“Looks like she’s your problem now,” Soren said as he walked over to the rock that had fallen on the ground. “Sorry about defacing you like that, but when you gave me a heads up about a sorceress, I realized this would be a much easier way to handle her.”
He held the stone up, revealing that it was a rune of teleportation, pried from the ground. Merely looking at the rune or touching it would cause one to teleport to my Magekiller. Soren tossed the stone back into my mouth and turned his back to me.
“What a wretched fate. No one deserves this,” he muttered to himself as he went about looking for survivors. His squire emerged from his hiding place behind one of my more pronounced roots and joined in the search.
I was mildly amused that Soren had planned ahead so far in advance. To have made the realization that the Magekiller would have worked on Jineve as well as having stolen one of my traps was rather clever. Truly, he was a man worthy of having possession of the artifact. He was prompt to leave via a ring of teleportation when realizing that his army was entirely gone. I wondered if I would ever see him again.
As for Jineve, she had a most unfortunate fate. While I had yet to create a new Hurlic to guard the Magekiller, the last one having been slain, the beast keeper decided to just corral one of the loose Shrevar into the room. Without her magic and the severe side effects of the spell draining her physical prowess, she was unable to do anything other than to die quickly. She would be resurrected at the shrine of Agara, of course, but all of that raw magical power she had attained over the years, now belonged to me. I grew substantially in power, while hers diminished. It was possible that I would see her again, but that wouldn’t be for a long, long time.
Chapter 25
Things had returned to normal after the Age of a Thousand was gone. We reset the traps of the second floor and set another, lesser treasure of the necromancer in place of it. A sign had been posted, to inform adventurers who arrived seeking that treasure, that it was now gone. After all, I did not want people to waste their time searching for something that was no longer there. But, of course, just as Immix had told me as he planted the sign, the adventurers would not believe it. A great many of them were slain in one of the five rooms, in the hopes of getting a treasure that was not there.
A few managed to pass through the gate leading to the final treasure, only to be disappointed at what they found. A pile of gold, a few magical trinkets and a spell book was not comparable to immortality. Those survivors, with treasure in hand, would return to their cities and spread the stories that the amulet was now gone. It took six months for new adventurers to finally stop arriving in the hopes of finding the amulet.
Those six months, however, gave me an unparalleled source of magical power. The adventurers who died within were strong, far stronger than their contemporaries who were seeking their fortune in the first level. One death on the second level was equal to the death of a six man party on the first floor. The stronger the adventurers, the more powerful I was becoming.
I continued to grow in both directions, breaching deeper and deeper into the earth, sipping more of that ancient magic beneath the ground, while also stretching higher into the sky. Soon I could see the city of Oregmyer and even watch some of the activity on the outskirts. People were beginning to take notice of me, as well. More than a handful of scholars and botanists arrived to observe me from the outside. But once they realized that I was a dungeon, they were quick to shy away.
I did not mind the attention. It was nice having people arrive to observe me without the hopes of plundering and searching for treasure. At least, most of the attention was nice. There was one time, before the Advent of Fall, in which the leaves of the Feverwood would turn orange and a festival would begin, that I saw a strange kind of attention. Something that I still cannot find an answer to.
It was a crack in the air, as if some entity was trying to shift between dimensions but couldn’t quite do so. This crack was tiny, almost impossible to notice unless you were looking directly at it. Fortunately, my gaze was fixed towards that part of the Feverwood at the time, observing a few adventurers camping out before storming me in the morning.
It pulsed and writhed, pushing its way out, but too weak to cross into this dimension. It was not…magical in nature. At least, not arcane or divine. It did not radi
ate any form of energy like I had seen before. Pressed against the miniscule crack was an eye, a dilated, bluish eye that seemed to be frantically looking everywhere. It spied me and…I think it knew that I was watching it. I don’t know what it was, but it began to violently press against the crack in the air, pushing as if it were desperate to get out, perhaps even wanting to charge at me. This happened for only a few seconds, before…it vanished.
This was beyond a mere curiosity. In my time of consuming the essences and energies of mortals who died within me, I learned a great deal about monsters. I had memories of the many horrible creatures that wandered Yehan, enough to create my own internal bestiary. Those that were dimensional in nature did not behave like this. Slipbeasts, which were able to move between planes of reality at will, were effortless in their work. Nothing could prevent them from shifting. Dimensional Shrikes, which appeared for a mere second in the material plane and grabbed its victim, only manifested when they sensed food. And they had no eyes.
I inquired with Ehdrid and described what I had seen. He, as a spiritual creature with a deep connection to magic, told me that there were no monsters of such a nature. That all beings radiated either divine or arcane energy when traversing planes. Instead, he insisted that I had some kind of vision, a spiritual revelation that was meant for me. Perhaps it had been granted to me by one of the gods, or maybe even the soul of my mother tree. Normally, Ehdrid would guide someone who saw a vision like this through a quest with the usage of herbs and magic, but he was unsure it would work on a being such as myself. I declined anyway. What I had seen was not a vision. It was real. Whatever it was.
But as interesting as that event had been, my attention soon went elsewhere. I would pay attention more to my surroundings outside, now that my consciousness was beginning to expand, but until the event happened again, I would be unable to learn anything else.
An emissary arrived one morning, bearing a great deal of chests full of diamonds and rubies. The caravan, led by a strange orcish woman, adorned in a red cloak and wearing armor made of boarhide, was composed of six wagons and twenty-seven warriors. The orcish woman did not ride on the caravan but rather seemed to lead it, walking just as fast as the horses that pulled the wagons. It was an odd sight, for normally adventurers sought to bring treasure out of the dungeon, not to place it inside. Perhaps this adventuring party was on a circuit, hitting multiple dungeons before returning to the cities.
But this was not the case. Several of the warriors carried eight chests and lined them up in front of my mouth, each one opening the chest to reveal more precious stones. It was quite impressive to see a small group who had amassed such a wealth. From what I knew about the value of these gems, they had millions of gold pieces worth in those chests.
“I am Gariatha, Merchant Queen of the Orcish Trade Union,” the woman said, shouting up to me. She stood proudly in front of her people, holding up a staff adorned with jewels. “And I wish to parley with the entity who controls this dungeon.”
This was becoming rather commonplace, unfortunately. With my immense size and the stories of my powers, there were many people who arrived hoping to curry my favor for some reason. But I had learned my lesson from Urioc. Do not trust outsiders. Although I had never seen a supposed Merchant Queen before, I had no interest in granting her a boon or a favor. So, I did as I always did when dealing with interlopers who would only seek to use me for their own designs: I sent Immix to pretend to be me.
Immix was happy to get the work and was quick to arrive outside, wearing a jester’s crown adorned in bells. They jangled as he bobbed his head frantically. Although he was getting older physically, his mentality had never changed. He was still playful, annoying and a prankster. He would do a fine job in getting these outsiders to leave me alone.
“I am the Great Tree who smells of bark and eats the dirt!” Immix shouted as he began to hop towards the queen on one foot. The guards all placed their hands on their weapons, but Gariatha put up a hand to stop them.
“You are not the World Tree,” the queen said. “You are just a goblin.”
“How dare you defy me,” Immix said. “I ought to just uproot myself right now and walk away!”
Gariatha narrowed her eyes and looked up at me. “You seek to hide from me. Understandable, but you insult us both by allowing this jackass to impersonate you.”
“And you insult jackasses by insinuating I am one of them!” Immix replied. “But alas, your shouts are in vain. I am the tree. State your business so that I may judge your case.”
“If you do not wish to take us seriously, then we shall leave,” she said, nodding to her men. They were quick to pack up the treasures and place them back on the carts. Immix was getting better at this. Perhaps I would reward him with another bell to add to his hat.
When they finished loading the carts and climbing aboard their wagons, the queen turned to look at me one last time.
“You are wise to be discerning of strangers, but a fool to turn them away without hearing what they have to say. We shall return tomorrow.”
And they left. Immix was delighted with himself and rewarded his actions by declaring himself King of the Goblins and attempted to get the Stonemasons to build a statue of him. This awarded him only a black eye and a ban from the Mason hall. I was confident I would not see those orcs again. Unless these strangers were here to test their mettle within my halls, I had no interest in their offers. I would not allow anyone to take advantage of me again.
But I was wrong about her tenacity. She returned again in the morning, entering through the same path, and just as before she lined up all eight chests before me, her men opening each one after the other. And again, she demanded to speak with me. This time, Immix came out with a flute, declaring that he could only speak the language of music and then played the same shrill note over and over until they left. But Gariatha vowed to return the next morning.
She was tenacious and persistent. For eighteen days, she and her men would return in the morning, to do the same routine they had done previously. It was no longer a simple matter of pride, but a contest of wills. Who would break first? Immix had grown bored with the same interactions time and time again, and merely planted a broom in the ground, ordering them to address the broom from now on, as it was made of wood, which gave it the same authority as the World Tree.
Finally, on the thirtieth day, I broke. Such a passage of time was nothing to me, a month was as a second, but for mortals? A month was quite long to engage in the exact same behavior time and time again. Even Immix who delighted in mocking people endlessly had grown bored with the Merchant Queen. The curiosity of her repetition finally got to me. I could not stand it any longer and so, as she departed on the thirtieth day, I whispered for her to stay but to allow her caravan to return.
And so, she stayed behind, gazing up at me, with an eager grin. She had won this contest, but not the war.
“What is it that you wish of me?” I asked. “Speak carefully, for I am a being of great discernment.”
“I see that. You use a jester to frustrate us, to gauge our hearts,” Gariatha said. “You wish to know if we will strike your servant should he displease us. That is a good measure of a heart, to see how one reacts when greatly distressed. I shall speak my case. I am the Merchant Queen of the Trade Union. We orcs exist in various states across Yehan, governing ourselves and warring with anyone we wish. No two orc states agree with one another, nor do they govern the same. The Trade Union is the only sacred place for all orcs from various tribes to come together and speak their fears and worries. We are neutral, mediators who control trade between tribes and ensure that peace lasts between all orcs.”
Curious. I had assumed from my first encounter with the orcs of the north, the Kria tribe, that they were all unorganized savages. It would appear that this was not the case.
Gariatha continued. “A great evil has befallen our people for a long time. All orcs suffer from one terrible fate, no ma
tter their virtue, no matter their sins. The great orcish god Ternoth was slain a hundred years ago, his divinity devoured by Emerhilk, the human who ascended and took Ternoth’s realm through treachery and cruelty. When he ascended and gained all of Ternoth’s power, we were left with no one to worship.
“The orc tribes were divided and we all found new gods, but they were not the gods of the orcs. They treated us as any other mortal being, but we are different from the rest. While Yiimta, the Great God of Life created all mortals, we were excluded. It was Ternoth who made us, Ternoth who stewarded and cared for us. More importantly, Ternoth had created a resting place for us when our bodies died, and our spirits could no longer live in this world. We would live in Orcsamar, a paradise for our people. But when Emerhilk ascended, he claimed Orcsamar for his own and closed the gates.”
Gariatha sighed deeply, and I could see tears begin to fall down our face. “For a hundred years, orckind has been divided in the afterlife. We go to the realms of the new gods we worship, never to see one another again. It is a cruelty for a race that was promised by Ternoth that, no matter what we endured in life, in death all orckind would be together.”
This was a rather sad story, but I did not know why she was telling me such a thing. But I kept my silence and allowed for her to continue.
“There are those who are renegades, who have been searching long and hard for some way to bring Ternoth back. But we have found nothing so far. Yet, in our searching, there was a vision granted by a single orc of a stranger that would arrive someday. This stranger would be as large as both a tree and the world. It would have in its power the ability to create new realms. I am here, on behalf of all of the eight major orc tribes, to ask if you would be willing to create a realm for our deceased brothers and sisters. A new Orcsamar.”
Tree Dungeon Page 13
