“Absolutely. I’d do anything to keep you feeling safe – you know that,” he said with a smile, which earned him one in response. Unfortunately, those smiles soon turned to frowns as they got to the merchant camp and asked to talk to whoever was in charge.
“The Minister doesn’t just talk to anybody, especially…people like you,” one of the perimeter guards said with a sneer. She was a Human fully equipped with chainmail-and-plate armor, with a sword at her hip that was longer than Sterge was tall – and she appeared like she knew how to use it, unlike the younger group of obviously new Raiders milling about the middle of the circle of wagons.
“What? People like us? Hill Dwarves?” Gwenda asked, thoroughly affronted. Sterge was a bit annoyed as well, but he tried not to let it show.
The woman laughed shortly, before answering matter-of-factly. “No, of course not. The Minister doesn’t talk to poor people, which you clearly are.”
Strangely, that made Sterge feel better; there were some things that couldn’t be changed, like his status as a Hill Dwarf, and judging people on that alone was something that he couldn’t really understand. The amount of money someone had, while not necessarily a good judge of character, usually indicated a certain amount of influential power. While neither prejudice was fair, he at least felt more prepared to have to abide by the latter. He had been poor for most of his life, so he was used to not having a lot of choices; it was only through hard work and perseverance that he and the other villagers managed to acquire the lease on this land, which amazingly ended up giving him more choice in the way he lived and survived.
Gwenda, on the other hand, seemed even more upset at that comment. Before she could respond, however, another voice came from further inside of the camp; it belonged to an older Elven individual, which in itself was an uncommon sight for Sterge. Most Elves lived for hundreds or thousands of years – unless they were Raiders, of course, where the average life expectancy was reportedly around 30 years – and they didn’t necessarily show their age until they were quite old. This Elf, though, had a little thinning of his long, platinum-blonde hair, fine wrinkles on his face, and the tips of his pointed ears drooped the tiniest bit; the signs of aging weren’t horrifically glaring, but were remarkable for even being present. He was also wearing a comfortable-looking light-blue robe cinched at the waist with a thin gold cord; nothing too fancy-looking, but it was obviously finely made, nonetheless.
“Francha? What do we have here?”
The Human guard turned around quickly and gave a quick but low bow to the Elf. “Nothing, Minister. These peasants were just leaving.”
The Elf frowned and walked closer, addressing the guard. “What have I told you about speaking like that?”
Francha, if that was her name, shuffled uncomfortably from foot-to-foot. “Uh…to think about what I’m saying before I say it?” she replied, seemingly confused by the question.
“No, not that, though that does apply here,” the Minister said, before continuing with a sterner tone to his voice. “What I was thinking of was the part where you don’t speak at all; you’re here to guard our caravan, not to decide who can speak to me when and where. First impressions are an important part of our business, and I won’t have that soiled by a simple guard who can’t hold her tongue.”
“But Minister, it’s more than obvious that these rabble—”
“Enough! Go report to Captain Ashlen and tell him you’re reporting for punishment detail. And to send someone to take your place here; preferably someone with a lot more tact than you’ve shown.”
Rather than argue, the guard bowed again and left, but not before throwing a murderous glance in Sterge and Gwenda’s direction.
“I apologize for her attitude – it won’t happen again; I hope you don’t take that as a reflection on us as a whole,” he said to them with an apologetic smile before Francha was even out of hearing range, which caused her to stiffen up as she walked away. He spread his hands as if in supplication, or as a gesture of goodwill.
“She said that you don’t talk to poor people; is that true?” Gwenda asked.
The Minister appeared a little flustered. “Ahem, well, that’s not quite true. My normal everyday dealings are usually with those a bit more…affluent…but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about those a lot less fortunate. Any person is a potential customer, after all, no matter what station of life they are currently in.”
“Ah, so you see those poor people only as a means to make money?”
There wasn’t any sense of apology or remorse in his voice now. “Yes, of course – I’m a merchant at heart, and making money is what I live for. I want to profit from everyone; I don’t discriminate. That’s bad business, in the end.”
Sterge was instantly put at ease at the Minister’s words; it was refreshing to hear the Elf be honest about his motivations, as he knew where the merchant stood. Most people were out to get something from someone, in his experience, and sometimes you didn’t know their true motivations until they’d done you irreparable harm. From the little he had heard about the most-powerful merchants throughout his life – and Jesper’s warning, of course – this Minister would try to take advantage of any business dealings to make the most money he possibly could; but now, with him, at least, it was kind of out in the open.
“Enough about me; what can I do for you? I couldn’t help but overhear that you were looking for the one in charge of this caravan; if that’s true, then you’re talking to the right person.” The merchant smiled again, with a look of curiosity on his face. Whether it was real or fake, Sterge couldn’t tell, but he assumed it really didn’t matter.
“Yes, that’s true. We were looking for whoever is responsible for destroying nearly an acre of these crops—” Gwenda said, spreading her hands around to indicate the trampled and destroyed wheat stalks— “and to ask for compensation. We need this food so that we can feed everyone that is here, and if we have to resort to buying elsewhere to make up for what was ruined, then it’s going to cost even more to keep everyone fed.”
“Oh, is this your field? I apologize for the damage; there wasn’t enough room to set up anywhere else, since the rest of this small village seems to be infested with dirty Raiders in tents or lean-tos. Would you happen to know who owns this land? I would speak with them about buying all of the area around here – including this field – at a decent price, which would help alleviate some of your concerns.” The Minister seemed unapologetic and inconvenienced by the whole situation, dismissing Gwenda’s demand for compensation.
“Nobody around here owns this land, good sir,” Gwenda answered, but before she could explain that it was being leased from the crown she was interrupted.
“Excellent! I was worried the Raider Clan had swooped in and purchased it already, so I’m glad to hear that I’m not too late. That makes it much easier to take charge of this entire situation and to establish this place as the southern hub of my trading operations. With the new dungeon found near here, this place will be a hotbed of business transactions for decades, if not longer.” The Elf was running his hands together greedily and turned away from them, almost as if he had forgotten they were there.
“Minister, I don’t think you heard me correctly,” Gwenda said, which caused the merchant to look at her strangely again. “I said nobody around here owns the land, because the crown owns it; it’s currently being leased for the next 20 years, which means it can’t be bought and sold like you think it can.”
The Minister just stared at her for a moment with a worried expression on his face. Before too long, however, his smile came back and he said, “Nonsense! All I have to do is buy the lease from whoever is in charge here, and then when the lease is up, I’ll have an option to purchase the land outright from the crown. Do you happen to know whose name is on the lease? That would be the one I need to talk to; once that is done, I assure you that you’ll receive adequate compensation for your ruined crops.”
“Well, that would be me…and
Sterge…and every other villager that lives here. You’ll need all of us to agree to sell the lease, and I can tell you right now that isn’t going to happen.”
The merchant just stared at Gwenda – though Sterge thought through Gwenda was more accurate – for a few moments before he asked in a low voice, “Are you ordering us to leave?”
“No, not at all. In fact, as long as you pay for the damage you’ve caused, you can even do business here – for a small fee, of course. You know, because you’ll be operating on our land and all that. As for visiting the dungeon, your people can do that as well, as long as they follow the rules already put in place by the Clan representative here. My hope is that we can all get along together and make this a very profitable venture,” Gwenda added with a smile – before the negotiation took place.
There was a lot of back and forth about the fees involved, and Sterge was sure that Gwenda got the worse end of the deal; not through any particular failure on her part, but from the fact that the Elf had hundreds of years of negotiations and business knowledge behind him. Regardless, they seemed to come to an equitable agreement, which the merchant said he would have written up later to seal the deal. Neither Sterge nor Gwenda thought that was the end of it, however, especially after the Minister’s parting words.
“I hope this will be very profitable, as well. Don’t think for a moment that I’ve given up on trying to acquire this land, though; I’m sure I’ll be able to…convince…you all to sell, in time.”
That doesn’t sound ominous or anything…
Chapter 7
The days and nights blended into each other seamlessly, though it wasn’t like Tacca really worried about the time of day so much as a Dungeon Core. All she knew was – through some reconnaissance from Shale outside of her entrance – that a few days after discovering that her dungeon was available to be delved through quicker than expected, the Raiders had set up a pathway with dim enchanted lights leading up to her entrance in the mountains. Because of that, she was getting visitors 24 hours a day in a constant cycle of one group entering her dungeon while another was exiting through the staircase tunnel.
She was glad she had thought about using one of her creatures – the Root Fox – to indicate when her dungeon was available again, even though Shale had a problem with it initially.
“This feels entirely too much like you’re communicating with them,” he had said, frowning at her Core as soon as she mentioned it. “That, and I’m worried that the people out there will think you’re letting your creatures outside of the dungeon – which you know is one of the worst things you can do.”
Tacca had been annoyed at how inconsistent the Raiders had been at checking the first room in her dungeon to see if she was ready; sometimes they would check almost immediately after the previous group had exited, while at other times it was an hour or two. The Root Fox appearing at the entrance for a moment to indicate when the dungeon was ready for the next group seemed like the best choice, as it didn’t require her to create any special system to do the same job. The creatures were already there, and all she had to do was instruct one when the previous group was walking up the staircase, and she was finishing up the rest of the replacements.
Streamlining the process by refilling the “conquered” rooms almost immediately after they were completed by the Raiders worked exceptionally well; the only thing that delayed the process was if both of the Soil-covered Pit Traps were uncovered, because it took a little longer and more Dungeon Force to replace them. She was still considering changing them soon, because that was a bottleneck of sorts in her process, but she was going to wait until she could make some additional changes and do them all at once. However, things were going well enough – which was why she needed some sort of message-relaying mechanism to keep the system running smoothly.
Fortunately, even over her Dungeon Assistant’s protest, Tacca decided to go ahead with her Fox plan – which was a resounding success! After a few hours, the Raiders had caught on to the meaning behind the creature’s presence, and now she was dictating when they could come and go. It was a measure of control that she didn’t realize she wanted—no, needed—in her life. For so long, she had been pushed around and told what to do and where to go; and now, because of some strategic thinking, she finally felt in charge of her own destiny. Granted, she was basically acting as a glorified gatekeeper who simply allowed the teeming hordes of Raiders into her dungeon at a measured pace – but it was a pace that was set by her, and not by the whims of those same Raiders.
Shale could only agree that her plan had worked out beautifully, though he worried what would happen when the Dungeon Placement and Regulatory Council found out about it. “I highly doubt they would find this acceptable, but as they don’t seem really interested in hearing any of my reports, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
We’ll deal with it when the time comes, but hopefully they will see this as something that could be applied to other dungeons to make them even better! I can even share the trick of having the exit staircase with them, so that they can pass it on. Who knows, such a thing might even become “standard” in many of the new dungeons.
“Ha, yeah. I have to agree, it’s a great idea, and I know that some dungeons might be interested in it; of course, Raiders would love it, but not all dungeons would be willing to sacrifice the time their visitors spend inside of their dungeon for a little expediency.”
Whether or not her idea caught on didn’t really concern Tacca, as she wanted to have as little interaction with the DPRC as possible after how they had treated her. She understood, fundamentally, why they used her “bad luck” to destroy poor-performing or dangerous dungeons – but she didn’t have to like it. The whole thing had ended up with her being trapped inside of a Dungeon Core, after all; while she was getting used to it – and actually enjoying herself – she missed the freedom of being able to leave a dungeon if she chose to do so.
That was all in the past, however, and there was nothing she could do but look towards the future. She was already making good progress by that point. A mere 2 weeks after the 2 Hill Dwarves had become her first visitors, there already were very few times that there wasn’t some sort of Raider presence inside her dungeon. Over the last 3 days, in fact, she had regulated her use of Dungeon Force so well during the restocking of all her rooms that there was not even 2 hours total during which she didn’t receive a CIP from Raider presence inside of her dungeon. All told, since she had really opened up to the hordes of brand-new Raiders, she had gained 135 Points during her current monthly countdown – an impressive haul by any standards. Not even the 95% reduction in her earned CIPs made much difference, because the most she could earn per hour was 5 Points, and that was for powerful individuals or groups being inside her dungeon; as it was, she was on a fairly even playing field with every other dungeon when it came to Raider presence.
When it came to Raider deaths, however, that reduction hurt quite a bit. So far, a total of 22 Raiders had died inside her dungeon – counting the 4 who had perished in that first disastrous delve by the intoxicated group. All the other deaths had been individual casualties, and all of them had been inside of her Boss room; the less-experienced groups were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Tacca’s creatures when they pushed too far, too fast.
When she added in the fact that very few of the groups had the ability to disarm her traps, she was actually surprised that the number of deaths wasn’t larger than it was. Most of those who delved through had either purchased a map or had a fairly good accounting of where all of the dangers were; at least, that was her impression as she watched them navigate their way around without too much difficulty. A lot of the time, her Enchantment traps were unavoidable and would be triggered no matter what; somehow, though, there was almost always some sort of “lucky” incident that happened to prevent more than only superficial wounds on those who were caught within the traps.
In one incident, a Fighter-type Raider triggered her Rage-inducin
g Enchantment and immediately turned on his groupmates, but a Frond Coyote ran in front of him at the “wrong” moment – “wrong” being unfortunate for Tacca – and tripped him up. As he landed, he appeared as though he were going to impale himself with his sword, but it ended up being angled just enough to only cut a large rent in his leather chestpiece – and to impale the Coyote that was jumping on his back to take advantage of his fall. By the time he extricated himself from that, the other creatures had swarmed him and given him a target for his rage before it disappeared.
Another time, a Caster-Class Raider accidentally triggered the Confusion-inducing Enchantment trap inside the sixth room with Jackals, Coyotes, and Root Foxes. The trap ended up hitting everyone in the room, and it was a chaos of confused attacks and flung Magistrike spells, one of which hit their Fighter in the back. Instead of hurting him too badly, it made him fall forward, squashing a Root Fox just about to pounce on him, and causing the two Branch Jackals intending to hit him from their downward jump to collide together and snap their necks.
There were at least a dozen other examples of luck going the Raiders’ direction in small ways, which weren’t particularly significant – individually, at least. When put together – and having the unique opportunity to see it all happen in her dungeon, hour after hour – Tacca could begin to see a pattern forming.
“Do you really think that is what’s happening? Is your ‘bad luck’ really doing that? Or should I even call it ‘bad’ anymore?” Shale asked, after the ill-reputed Core had explained what she thought was going on. He had been able to see many of the incidents first-hand as he followed the groups through the dungeon, so it wasn’t just something Tacca thought she was seeing. Not only that, but even he had to acknowledge that the occurrences were too numerous to account for coincidence.
I…think so. It’s hard to tell, exactly, because I’ve never heard of something like this happening before. Regardless, I think that these lower-Leveled groups are being “saved” by luck in situations where they should win based on their skill and experience – even when they don’t have much of either. When they push too far beyond their capabilities, such as into my Boss room when they aren’t ready for it, either that same luck turns against them or is absent altogether.
The Dungeon Fairy: Two Choices: A Dungeon Core Escapade (The Hapless Dungeon Fairy Book 2) Page 8
