by DB King
“Take as long as you need,” Marcus said. “I’ll come back in another fortnight and see how you’re getting on.”
“Thank you, master,” Rance said. “That’s a relief. I’ve fallen behind on other orders trying to complete this.”
“We can’t have that,” Marcus replied. “Just do your best.”
“Where do you want this stuff delivered to?” the armorer said. Marcus thought for a moment. Moving a load of armor and swords would be tough, and after his recent journey through the slum district, he wasn’t keen to be moving a barrow full of arms through those lanes on his own. Then, he had an idea.
He smiled. “Deliver it to the Duelists’ Plaza for me. I’ll meet it there in, oh, say three hours from now. Okay?”
“My pleasure, sir,” said Rance deferentially. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
Marcus’s next stop was the Merchants’ Town. From the docklands, it was fairly easy to pass through to Merchants’ Town without trouble. The Middle Watch—the guarded ring of ditch and wall that protected Merchants’ Town on every side—crossed the main road in from the docklands, but there was so much trade up and down at all hours of the day that the guards there mainly only worked to keep out obvious beggars and known criminals. Marcus, in his good clothes, felt confident that he could pass unremarked.
It went just as he’d thought. The road up from the docklands was wide and cobbled, and thronged with carts and folk of all kinds moving back and forth. Impressive buildings in wood and stone lined the road on both sides—inns for the most part, but with shops, storehouses, breweries, and administrative buildings all mixed in as well.
At the Middle Watch line, flush with the buildings, two square wooden guard-towers stood on both sides of the road. Between them, was a huge wooden gate that could be slammed closed to block the way quickly if needed. Guards in bright mail with long spears stood on top of the towers, looking over the crowd, and other guards stood at the bottom of the towers.
To his immense satisfaction, nobody gave Marcus a second glance.
Walking through the Merchants’ Town in daylight, openly, was a new experience for Marcus. The thieves guild was situated in the middle level of the city, in the same area as Merchants’ Town, but during his time at the thieves guild, he’d not had much time for leisure, and most of his activities were confined to the guild buildings and courtyards. Now, he didn’t hurry, enjoying wandering through the tightly packed crowds, through markets with people hawking their wares in loud voices, past inns and pot-shops, and shops selling all kinds of goods, from clothing to potions to magical books and dried herbs. It seemed that anything you could imagine could be bought here in Merchants’ Town.
Remembering what Ella had said about dungeon ingredients, Marcus decided to get some things for a dungeon that might make some interesting combinations. He walked around the biggest market, looking at the stalls. He bought a bronze dagger and some silver finger-rings from a metalworker. From a jeweler’s stall, he bought a small bag of uncut rubies. A vendor selling potions and dried meats had a range of plant seeds that were supposed to have stimulant effects, and Marcus thought that could lead to some interesting results. He bought a couple of bags of seeds, nodding as the old woman explained how they’d keep him on his feet for days if needed. Marcus put all this into his leather belt-pouch, which felt heavy by the time he was done.
Partly as an afterthought, he bought a strange piece of jewelry—though most people wouldn’t see it as particularly decorative. A big lobster claw dangled from a silver chain like a gem in a pendant. The sailor he’d bought it from said it was a good luck charm, and Marcus figured he could use all the luck he could get, especially when he left the claw to evolve in a chamber. He slipped that into his pouch too.
As he turned away from the market and made his way toward the armorer’s street—where the blacksmiths and leather workers and those who sold secondhand arms and armor plied their trade—he was stopped by a sudden hand on his shoulder.
He turned, swiftly, a hand dropping to the hilt of his dagger.
“No need for that,” said a throaty voice. A strange figure stood before him. She was a woman, maybe a few years older than him by her build, and dressed in a long, dark red robe. A mask was pulled up over her mouth and nose, and her hood pulled down so only her eyes could be seen.
She was holding something out to him, something about a foot long and wrapped in coarse linen.
“Take this,” she said. “It’s for you; I realize that now. It took me too long to find you, Eloran, but now I understand at last.”
“Eloran?” he asked, but she suddenly thrust the package in his hands.
“This is yours,” she said.
Marcus took the package. It was heavy, as if filled with metal.
“But what…” he began to ask, but she silenced him with a curt shake of her head.
She glanced over her shoulder, pulling off one black glove to reveal hands that looked rather too wide, too long and too scrawny for a human. Marcus shuddered involuntarily as he looked at those hands. The woman drew a ring off the index finger of her left hand and pressed it into his hand.
“You must take this, too, as a sign that I have succeeded in my mission,” she said as she drew her glove back on.
“Wait a minute,” said Marcus, looking at the ring. It was red gold, with a black stone fixed in an elaborate setting. “What is this about? Who are you?”
“There is no time now for me to explain. Farewell, Eloran, Dungeon Bearer. The prophecy will be fulfilled, and I have played my part.”
She glanced over her shoulder, once to either side, as if she feared being followed. Then, turning on her heel, she spoke one last time. “Farewell, Eloran. May the fates of Margion be with you.”
She disappeared into the crowd as if she had never been.
Marcus stared after her for a moment, then looked at the ring she’d given him.
“Who in the world is Margion?” he asked out loud, “and what was that all about anyway?”
Hammer leaned against his knee. “She smelled funny, not like a human at all.”
“She didn’t really sound like one either,” Marcus said. “And did you see her hands? Creepy.”
“What’s in the parcel?”
“No idea, but I don’t want to open it here. Come on, let’s get to the armorer’s street and finish the day’s work.”
It wasn’t far. Marcus put the strange ring in his pocket and tucked the package under one arm, then started walking. He put the thoughts of the strange woman out of his head for now—weird as it was, she was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it, so he just focused on the task at hand.
He browsed a couple of armorer’s shops before he found one he liked. This fellow seemed to specialize in stocking a wide range of different armor and weapons from all over the world—heavy plate that would have fitted an ork berserker, a miniature coat of chainmail that was almost small enough to have fitted Ella, and everything in between.
Marcus bargained with the man over 20 suits of human-sized light armor, and two dozen swords and daggers. When they finally agreed on a price, Marcus paid a little extra with a comment about discretion before he asked that the gear be loaded onto a covered cart and brought to Duelists’ Plaza in the docklands in an hour.
That done, he wandered to a nearby tavern where he sat outside at a table in the courtyard. A boy brought him a tankard of decent ale, half a roast chicken, and a meaty beef-bone for Hammer, and then Marcus set about opening his mysterious package.
It was a mace.
The weapon was bronze, highly polished and with a fat green crystal the size and shape of a duck’s egg set into the middle of it. The handle was inlaid with silver and gold in a filigree design. A sharp spike jutted out from the handle. The head itself rose in four spiked crests. Despite its elaborate and ceremonial look, it was heavy, and seemed like it could do the business if required.
Bemused, and with no more idea what the my
sterious woman had meant by her strange words than he’d had before, Marcus re-wrapped the parcel and finished his meal. Satisfied, he headed back down toward the docklands.
He reached the Duelists’ Plaza as dusk was beginning to fall. The two deliverymen were waiting with their hand-carts. They looked uncomfortable—night was falling, and Duelists’ Plaza was not a safe place to hang about after dark, but Marcus gave them each a generous tip and instructed them to leave their carts with him, saying he’d send a message to their masters when he was done with the carts.
The young deliverymen left together, grateful to be gone.
“What’s all this?” said a duelist, approaching from the direction of one of the surrounding inns. Marcus was wearing a sword, which could be seen as a challenge to the duelists. He would have to act quickly to make it clear that he was not here to fight.
“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a job for you, friend,” said Marcus, holding out a gold tower. “Guard my cart from robbers, and if anyone tries to mess with this, kill them!”
The duelist grinned and took the coin. “You have my word,” he said.
Marcus knew he could rely on that. These duelists would rather die than break a pledge of honor, even for an insignificant job like this. That was what being a duelist was all about.
He left the man and walked to the nearby lane behind one of the inns. Here, as before, he found his entrance to the Underway. He stepped in, went 20 yards down the tunnel, and placed his bladehand chamber. The entrance shimmered into life.
He went back out to the lane behind the inn. An entrance to the inn’s stableyard led out into the lane. Marcus pushed it open. He caught a passing stable hand and told him to give him a hand with his carts.
The lad, seeing nothing unusual in this, did so. Ten minutes later, Marcus’s carts, piled with sets of armor, were sitting in one side of the stable yard. Covered as they were with leather tarpaulins, no one would have guessed that they contained enough weapons and armor to outfit a small guard company. The duelist, thinking nothing of the small job, except that he’d been well paid, shook Marcus’s hand and went on his way.
Nobody thought anything unusual of it, but Marcus had managed to get his carts one step closer to the Underway without anyone wondering why he was doing such a thing.
After waiting for a couple of hours, Marcus headed out into the stableyard again. All was quiet, with all the patrons of the inn well-settled with beer and food inside. He pushed the lane gate open, grabbed one cart, and hauled it out through the gate. The stable lad he’d used earlier saw him go, and said a word to the guard on the gate. The guard smiled and nodded Marcus through. Marcus shouldered the gate closed behind him before he marched the cart up the lane, into the Underway, and then through the dungeon doorway into the entrance corridor.
Quickly, he unloaded, then took the empty cart back to the inn’s stableyard. He repeated the procedure with the second cart. Once he was done, he lifted the dungeon chamber again.
When the option to Begin Gestation Process appeared for the dungeon, Marcus denied it.
“Dungeon Stasis,” he said, and felt the activity in the dungeon recede. He tossed the glass ball up in the air and caught it again, feeling well satisfied with himself.
Through careful use of his dungeon and a bit of logistical legwork, he’d managed to get enough armor and weapons into his dungeon chamber and now, thanks to the dungeon magic, he could carry the whole lot in one hand.
He grinned. “This deserves another mug of ale, I think,” he said to Hammer. Together, they headed back to the inn.
“You get your carts unloaded all right, sir?” said the stable lad as he came back in through the stableyard.
“I did,” said Marcus. He asked the lad to send two messages, one to each of the armor-merchants he’d bought from, telling them they could collect their carts from the inn whenever they were ready. The lad snapped Marcus a salute and rushed off to fulfil his errand immediately.
A good lad, that, thought Marcus. He was reminded of himself at that age, not long apprenticed to the thieves guild and always ready to make the most of an opportunity for a coin. He smiled and headed into the inn for another beer and something else to eat.
It would be a long walk back through the slum district to the Underway’s Wasteland entrance, but he wanted to get back tonight. There was not a moment to waste in getting the new arms and armor into the hands of the Gutter Gang.
Chapter 18
Marcus returned to the Gutter Gang’s base without incident. He was tired by the time he got home, and it was very early morning. Everyone was asleep except for the guards. He went to the grove and fell asleep on the lush grass.
When he woke, he went to equip the Gang with their new gear. Jonno and the others reported that ratmen had been seen near the entrance to the Gutter Gang’s base, but had fled when challenged. Jay—the folk no longer called him “Old Jay” since he’d regained his sight and vigor—was not too concerned. He seemed confident that whatever happened, having the Master of Evolutions on their side would make all the difference.
“Cold steel will make the difference, too,” Marcus reminded them all as he distributed the weapons.
“Aye, this is good stuff,” said Kairn Greymane, looking over the weapons. He was a stout, thick-set fellow, a dwarf but not much shorter than Marcus himself. He was built like a beer-barrel, with huge shoulders, a thick neck, and a massive, iron-gray beard. Kairn had been training the Gutter Gang in fighting techniques, and he seemed pleased with their progress.
“They’ll be able to hold the gateway, no problem at all,” he said proudly, as if displaying a trophy. The gang members looked good, the effects of Marcus’s magic making them stronger and healthier by the day.
Marcus smiled at them. “Wear your armor well,” he said, “and bear your weapons bravely. Together, we’ll survive whatever the fates throw at us, and go on to thrive in our next chapter.”
They all cheered and clashed their weapons together. Kairn beamed proudly at them.
Marcus had business to attend to.
He had agreed that his pet duelists should return and fight a dungeon chamber again after a week had passed; that time had now come. It was no bad thing, either—Marcus wanted to resupply with gold after his spending spree on armor the day before, and having the duelists run the dungeon meant he could take his cut of their loot. Also, after the creation of the Cursed Pestilence dungeon, Marcus wanted to have another go at making a new chamber; one that would be more usable day to day than the Cursed Pestilence dungeon.
The creation of new dungeon chambers, and the gestation processes that created the monsters, were fueled by energy expended within the dungeon system. If Marcus wanted a new chamber, he would have to have some adventurers run the dungeon first.
He would be expecting the duelists at the entrance near the plaza in a couple of hours, and if he were to avoid passing the entrance to the ratmen’s domain, he would have to go the same route as he’d taken yesterday—through the lowest levels of the city. That would take some time, and he wanted to set off soon.
After a quick talk with Ella, Marcus packed his Bladehand dungeon and his dungeon with the shadow-duelists—which he now thought of as the Harpy dungeon—and headed off. This time, he left Hammer behind. The dog was tired after yesterday, and he chose to hang out at the barricades with Jonno and Jay instead of walking half across the city with Marcus.
“Fair enough,” Marcus told him with a grin. As he made his way, the clash of steel came from behind him, where the Gang were training under Kairn’s watchful eye.
He walked up to the Middle Watch this time, and he passed the guards without comment. One guard gave him a questioning look, but he was dressed well, like a merchant, and so nobody challenged him. It was a longer walk around this way, but more pleasant. After an hour’s walking, he came down the main road to the docklands, and half an hour later, he was in the Duelists’ Plaza.
Instead of waiting, he went s
traight to the entrance to the Underway, headed in, and placed both his dungeons. He did not have long to wait for his adventurer team to arrive.
Jonah, Tyler, and Jek came prowling down the corridor together, swords drawn. They were looking well-fed and well-clothed, and they all had new boots.
“Dungeon Master!” cried Jonah when he saw Marcus. “I’m pleased to see you! We almost could not believe our good fortune last time, and my friends here were not sure that you would come again this week!”
Marcus grinned at them. “My honor may not be that of a duelist, but you can rely on me to be where I say I’ll be.”
“Good, good!” said Jonah. “But… there are two doors now? What does it mean?”
“There are two dungeons now,” said Marcus with a shrug. “Which will you choose? Would you like to try the new one?”
Jonah and his companions glanced uncomfortably at each other. “Well, the truth is, we’ve been discussing a new tactic we’d like to try against the bladehand. If it’s all the same to you, we’d like to fight that monster again, please.”
Marcus laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” he said, gesturing toward the door that led to the Bladehand dungeon. “Head on in! I look forward to hearing how you get on!”
The three duelists, chattering enthusiastically, headed into the chamber together, and the door swung closed behind them. In truth, Marcus was actually a little disappointed. He was proud of the Harpy chamber, with its elaborate recreation of the Duelists’ Plaza, and the unexpected Harpy attack at the end of the run. He thought that Jonah and his team would enjoy it, and he’d looked forward to hearing what they had to say about it. But some instinct told him that he should not try to influence their choice.
That was interesting, that instinct, and he wondered why it was the case. Where did that instinct come from? Why would it be a bad thing for him to influence their decision? Since he had gained the power of the Master of Evolutions, Marcus had been feeling strange new emotions and instincts driving his decision-making more and more. The power that he had gained, he was realizing, was more than just the dungeon creation, or even the ability to influence the progression of the people around him. There was something deeper going on inside him, an intuition and a feeling of destiny that seemed all around him now. His choices meant something; they were significant in ways that were not yet clear to him.
