by DB King
Elemental ability: Water
Current Mastery Level: Novice
Level progress: 1%
Progress to Apprentice level: 1%
“Woah,” said Marcus. “That’s new!”
Ella nodded. “You had a taste of what the full power was like inside the dungeon, but now you have to build the ability from the ground up. That’s going to take a while, but you should persevere. The elemental abilities have the potential to be some of the most powerful magical abilities in the world.”
Marcus nodded thoughtfully, thinking about that. “What about the dungeon chamber itself?” he said after a moment. “I don’t think I can justify sending adventurers into that. It was… I can hardly describe it. It’s not what I want my dungeons to be like. Can I destroy the dungeon?”
Ella frowned. “I’ve never heard of a dungeon master being able to destroy a dungeon entirely. You might be able to counteract the magic in some way in the future, but I don’t know how. I agree that you shouldn’t send dungeon runners in there though. I think the best thing to do would be to just seal it up and put it aside for now. It may be useful later. Perhaps you could rearrange the dungeons so that the Fire element is used elsewhere? The Pestilence element, however, should be kept contained.”
Marcus nodded, staring into the fire.
Ella smiled. She flew over and put one clawed hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” she said, “don’t worry about it. Every dungeon master has a few less-successful dungeons. Even Mero the Great—so it’s said—had a whole collection full of dungeons that didn’t work out for one reason or another. That’s what experimentation is all about.”
Marcus grinned at her. “And don’t forget that I’ve gained a valuable new ability, too,” he said. “Maybe your Mero the Great was creating dungeons that didn’t work as active chambers but had some other purpose—creating elemental power potions, for example?”
He’d been half-joking, but Ella looked serious, frowning as she flew back to her perch on a log by the fire. “You know, you might be onto something there,” she said. “Mero, they say, had a number of powerful elemental affinities that he could call on, and he put a lot of time and energy into practicing them. Other masters had only one or two elemental powers. It may be that the creation of dungeons with particularly dangerous elemental combinations—in this case, Pestilence and Fire—prompts the spawning of an elemental power potion. Do you think that might be the case?”
“It would certainly make sense given what we’ve seen tonight,” Marcus said. “And I guess that means working out what elements are dangerous enough to make that happen. I figure Pestilence is the really bad one, not Fire. Fire can be a good thing, but pestilence is always bad.”
Ella nodded. “We’ll need to give it some thought, but it opens up a whole new area of dungeon creation that I was never even aware of, and that is definitely a good thing.”
Marcus got up and walked barefoot over to the cliff wall again. Here, he cast the spell to detach the dungeon chamber and make it a sphere. He held it in his hand, examining it for a moment. It was thick, opaque glass, like the others, but the mist that swirled inside it was inky black with little tongues of red throughout. Instead of bright metal decorating the flattened base of the sphere, this one had a base decorated with carved, yellowed bone.
“Well,” he said as he stretched out beside the fire on the soft grass. “There’s some lessons learned tonight, that’s for sure. This dungeon master thing just opens more possibilities every time we use it.”
“That’s the way it should be,” said Ella, smiling down at him from the tree branches above. The tree was her favorite place to rest.
Marcus lay back on the grass, enjoying the warmth of the campfire and the sight of the grove’s unfamiliar stars up above. He took a deep breath of the clean air and fell to sleep.
Chapter 17
In the morning, Marcus woke refreshed. Ella was still asleep up in the branches of the tree above, and he didn’t wake her. He stretched. The burn on his leg, from the fight the night before, stung a bit, but it wasn’t so bad. One thing that Marcus had noticed as an advantage to his newly enhanced state was a definite increase in his ability to heal and recover from injuries. He had long been used to the nicks and bruises that were the inevitable part of an active life, but since he’d gained the dungeons and become Master of Evolutions, he’d found that such injuries soon vanished.
His clothing had dried by the fire. He got dressed, then gathered up his gear before striding across the grove. Hammer heaved himself up and came along, not saying anything. Marcus was deep in thought. He’d left the new Cursed Pestilence dungeon in its crystal ball form in the Grove chamber, and he was thinking about how to begin the creation of a library of dungeon chambers.
Somehow, the space in the Underway didn’t seem right to him. He wanted something aboveground, probably in the Wasteland up above, making use of the ruins and the unused space. The ground was wet, but it could be drained. There were skilled craftspeople in the Gutter Gang, not least the dwarf Kairn Greymane.
He nodded thoughtfully to himself as he marched down the corridor and into the main chamber of the Gutter Gang.
Hammer growled.
Marcus looked up, surprised. The chamber was unusually silent, and all around the members of the gang were standing, looking at him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” a gruff voice said. “It’s your time to take your crooked faerie magic and leave this place. We don’t want you and your magic here. It’s going to bring trouble down on us.”
Marcus looked around to find the speaker. It was Arn Longhand, a man in his forties with a straggly red beard, a round belly, broad shoulders, and small, cunning eyes. He strode out from the crowd and planted himself firmly in front of Marcus.
“I challenge you, here and now, to fight, and may the loser be exiled from the Gutter Gang and the Underway!” he growled, putting his clenched fists on his hips.
Marcus looked at the others. He didn’t know Arn well—the man had only been part of the Gutter Gang for a year or so—but he was concerned that his gang might support Arn’s view. If that was the case, then he’d better just leave, rather than taking up the challenge.
“Is this your view?” he called to the others.
There was some muttering and shaking of heads, and then Jonno One-Eye called out from a corner. “Arn Longhand speaks for himself. He doesn’t speak for me!”
“Nor for me!” another voice called, and there was a general shouting of agreement.
“Sounds like the others don’t agree with you, Arn,” Marcus said mildly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“These others don’t know what’s good for them!” Arn replied stubbornly. “Only I know cursed magic when I see it. You will bring death on the Gang, I know it! This impending attack would not be happening if not for you! You will bring death upon us and—”
“Very well,” Marcus said, cutting over the man’s ranting. “You are wrong, and you are a fool if you believe that, but I will take your challenge. State your terms. Would you have me fight you with a blade or with my bare hands?”
Arn grinned, showing a row of uneven teeth. He lifted his big, knotted fists. “With your bare hands, boy. And none of your magic tricks. I’ll show you how a real man fights.”
Marcus was angry now. The man was a fool, and a danger to the whole gang. Marcus shrugged off his cloak and unhitched his sword-belt, then peeled off his leather jerkin, leaving only his undershirt.
Arn did the same, then put up his fists. He began to circle Marcus in a boxer’s stance, and Marcus turned slowly, staying light on his feet and ready for whatever the man threw at him. It was clear that Arn had not benefited from the general upgrading that the rest of the gang seemed to have taken from their proximity to the Master of Evolutions. Marcus guessed that was because Arn’s intention was corrupt. Ella was always saying that a person’s intention was crucial in decid
ing the effect the magic had on them.
It meant that Arn would be easy to beat, but it also meant that Marcus had to beat Arn on the man’s own terms. There was also the possibility of more lingering doubts in the Gutter Gang than people were admitting. Marcus would have to beat Arn fair and square, and that meant letting him lead and set the standards of what was acceptable.
Marcus would let Arn have the first blow.
He didn’t have to wait long for his opponent to take his opportunity. Arn stepped in with a grin and swung hard at Marcus’s face. The blow cracked against his cheekbone, scraping a gash in his cheek, and Marcus felt his head snap back. What a hit! The man’s fists were heavier than he would have expected.
Blood trickled down his jaw from where Arn’s blow had cut his cheek. Arn dived in to follow up with a quick combination of jabs. This time, Marcus dodged, trying not to allow his magically enhanced speed take too much influence. Interestingly, he discovered that he could actually rein in the influence of the enhancement if he wanted to.
Even so, he was still quicker than Arn’s jabs.
Marcus side-stepped and delivered two sharp blows to the man’s kidneys, then smacked him with an open palm on one ear. To his credit, Arn didn’t buckle under the sudden onslaught, but launched a big, uncontrolled punch at Marcus’s head.
The blow was badly aimed and left him wide open. Marcus stepped in. One arm came up to block the blow, and the other snapped up to deliver an elbow-strike to the other side of Arn’s head. That hit made him reel. Marcus, not wanting to draw this out any longer than it had to be, followed it up with a knockout jab to the chin.
Arn’s head snapped back, and he fell, his fists still clenched. As he landed on his back, his fists opened, and something rolled out from his clenched fingers. Marcus stepped quickly up and picked it up. It was a roll of iron pennies, bound up in hemp cloth.
“No tricks, eh?” Marcus said, holding up the roll for everyone to see. Blood was dripping down his face, and his cheekbone was rapidly purpling to an ugly bruise. Everyone muttered, and a couple of people called out in angry outrage. Marcus dropped the roll of coins onto Arn’s chest.
“Arn Longhand challenged me to fight him fair and square, and yet he used trickery to make his blows harder. Dirty tricks! That’s the limit of what a man like this can offer you.” Marcus raised his voice and glared around at the Gutter Gang. “I’ll use my new magic to raise you up, to improve your lives and your prospects, and, yes, to win the battle that’s coming against the ratmen and the Sewer Slayers. My powers are not trickery; they’re real! What does Arn Longhand have to offer? Iron pennies. Well, here’s my pension for him, to take him far from here where he can cause no more trouble. He’s exiled from the Gang. Make sure he’s not here when I get back.”
Marcus pulled a handful of gold towers from his pouch and tossed them onto Arn’s chest, then retrieved his cloak and marched away. After a moment of silence, they began to chant his name.
He smiled.
Outside in the tunnel, he raised a hand to his cheek. “You okay, boss?” Hammer asked.
“Sure,” Marcus replied grimacing. “Just a scratch. I had to let him get a hit in first.”
“He’s been stirring trouble since you first got the dungeons,” Hammer said. “I should probably have warned you, but I didn’t think it would come to anything, and you were pretty busy.”
“That’s all right,” Marcus said. “But do the others agree with him?”
“Nah,” the dog said, “it’s like Jonno said. Arn spoke for himself.”
“Huh. Well, hopefully that’s the last we’ll see of him, but I guess you never know…”
He wiped the blood from his face with a rag and got walking. Today, he wanted to go to the armorer and pick up the consignment of leather armor and steel weapons he’d commissioned for the Gang. As he walked, he decided that it wouldn’t be enough. The armorer was good at his job, but he could only work so fast, and he had other clients.
If Marcus wanted to fit everyone in the Gang in decent armor before the fight, he would have to look elsewhere for another source of gear.
I’d relied on the battle being a bit further off, he thought. That would give the armorer more time to work. After my encounter with the two men from the Sewer Slayers, and what I overheard, I reckon I’m going to have to move a bit quicker.
There were armor and weapons dealers up in the Merchants’ Town, and Marcus figured he was probably well-dressed enough to pass for a regular buyer these days. He smiled. His bruised face might raise a few eyebrows, but perhaps people would assume that he was part of a duelist guild.
Well-made clothing got you a pass for a lot of places, Marcus reflected as he made his way to the exit.
He came up through the Wastelands entrance, the same place that he’d taken Ella the night they’d met. This was the long way around to the docklands, but the route to the other exits would take Marcus past the entrance to the ratmen’s domain, and he had no desire to go that way, not just now. Besides, he should get used to being up-top again. With his good cloak and boots, he might even pass for a merchant.
The idea made him smile as he climbed up the steep steps to the ruin where the entrance to the Underway was concealed. As he climbed out and straightened up, something caught his eye.
As was often the case over the Wastelands, a thick sea-fog had gathered despite the bright sun above. It made it hard to see far, but there was no mistaking the small figure crouched on the stone up ahead.
It was not much bigger than Ella, and it was white, almost as if it was made of the mist. As Marcus came out of the Underway and stood up, the squatting figure turned its face toward him. Marcus had an impression of pale, lidless eyes, a toothy mouth, and a face that was more skull than flesh, before the thing launched itself like a frog and vanished into the mist.
“What in the world was that?” asked Marcus.
“No smell,” said Hammer as he trotted over to sniff the stone where the thing had crouched. “No smell at all. I don’t like that. Everything has some smell. Even the wights that inhabit the Wasteland”
He shook himself and sneezed, his hackles up as he glared into the mist.
“It certainly wasn’t one of the wights,” said Marcus. “They’re big, armored, and pretty aggressive. If we’d come upon a wight up here, we’d have had a fight on our hands. Well, it’s gone now, buddy,” said Marcus, scratching the dog behind the ears. “No point in worrying about it now. Let’s get moving, we’ve got a long walk to get to the armorer’s shop.”
As they walked into the mist, unnoticed by either of them, two pale blue eyes watched them go from behind the stunted ruin of an old tree.
The day was bright, and the sun was hot, but the cool mist and the brisk air off the sea kept it from being stifling until they reached the edge of the slums. Then, it became very hot and humid, and Marcus was sweating as he walked along. Hammer trailed behind him, panting.
Marcus got some funny looks from the slum-dwellers, and one knot of rough-looking lads even seemed inclined to find out what he had in his purse. Marcus flicked his cloak back to give them a look at his sword, and they backed off quickly enough. It was a new experience for him, being noticed in the slums. Usually it was in the higher-class levels of the city, and even in the more classy parts of the docklands, where his appearance made people look at him with unfriendly eyes.
If I get my way, he thought as he strode through the narrow, crowded, clammy lanes, I’ll be able to improve these people’s lot as well. Someday, the wealth and influence of the dungeons will allow me to improve the lives of everyone in Kraken City.
He comforted himself with that thought as he walked through the slums. Being viewed as an outsider had made him see the place with new eyes. It really was appalling. The dwellers did their best to keep the hovels that passed for homes in good condition, but there was little they could do about the filth that filled the streets.
Up above, in the high nobles’ tower dist
rict, covered canals moved effluent out of the city and off away to sea, beyond the reach of the tides. In the slum district, however, the gray water and untreated sewage from the Merchants’ Town flowed downward and collected in the streets, along with all the other debris that came with being a tightly packed population.
Pigs and chickens wandered the streets here, and rats, and cats, and pigeons, and who knew what else living here too. The people caught them and ate them, but there never seemed to be any lack of new ones to take their place. Flies buzzed through the air, and the smell was so thick Marcus felt he could almost reach out and get a handful of it.
Dead-eyed women and thin, undernourished men glared sullenly at Marcus from every door and alleyway as he passed, until he was almost frantic with his awareness of their continuous suffering.
I will do something about it, he promised himself suddenly. I will change this. I will use the power of the dungeons to change it for them.
The docklands, when he finally arrived, were a welcome relief from the stifling conditions of the slums. The sea served a constant, fresh sea-breeze. Sails cracked and snapped in the wind, and the shouts of sailors and the calls of gulls mingled with the swash of the sea in an endless, changing music.
Marcus took a deep breath and smiled. “We’ll get there,” he told the dog. “It’ll be a long road, but we’ll get there. I’ll change this whole place for the better, in time.”
“I bet you will,” said Hammer.
They went to the armorer, Rance. As Marcus had expected, the man had not managed to fill the complete order. There were seventeen sets of leather armor, chainmail, swords, and daggers, however, and that was pretty good going. The Gutter Gang had about 35 people who were fit to fight and needed to be kitted out, so Marcus paid the armorer and thanked him.
