The Hidden Illusionist (Thieves of Chaos Book 1)

by Deck Davis

  “How’s tit dungeon holding up?” said Wisetree.

  “Really immature for a centuries-old tree.”

  He stumbled again. Damn it; you’d think after walking on two legs all his life, he wouldn’t struggle with it.

  “You might have made the legs too heavy,” said Wisetree.

  “I used as much mud as you told me to.”

  He should have been happier. Under Wisetree’s guidance, he’d crafted a bipedal body from dirt, vines, and weed spirit. Then, he closed his eyes and transferred into it, stepping into his new mud form like it was a suit of armor. He didn’t have stunning looks, but at least he could walk. It felt good to travel on feet rather than a root system, even if he couldn’t get used to the weight distribution of the mud.

  Xig and the other five fiends approached from the east, tugging on ropes. Four creatures struggled to get free. They were horn-bugs; dog-sized beetles lined with spikes, whose antennae clicked and clacked as they tried to make sense of their new surroundings.

  Xig and the others tied the horn-bugs to four wooden spikes that Dantis had wedged into the ground.

  “Found in forest,” said Xig. “Happy?”

  Dantis had instructed his shadow fiend workforce to find him the meanest-looking creatures in the Barrens. If this was the best they’d found…maybe the Barrens wasn’t such a hostile place, after-all. Then again, perhaps there were bigger beasts out there, but Xig and his crew had been too scared to tackle them.

  Whatever the reason, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “I’m happy. Thank you, Xig. Thanks guys.”

  “Grub happy!” declared one of the shadow fiends.

  It was rare the other fiends spoke; they preferred to let Xig be their mouthpiece. Even so, Dantis had made a point of learning their names – Xig, Coswoz, Gunker, Toe, and Nigal.

  The horn-bugs strained against the ropes holding them in place. They chattered to each other using their antennae, clicking them in alarm.

  Pity stirred inside him. They’re scared of me. They’re terrified to be here.

  He had never considered that dungeon fodder could have feelings like that. It was accepted that heroes explored dungeons and killed the monsters within them, but he’d never considered the fact that the monsters might not want to be killed; that they had families, and though they looked vicious, were just trying to get by.

  Two horn-bugs strained against the ropes holding them in place. Another, one of the adults of the pack, made a low humming sound, and his children seemed soothed.

  “They live in patriarchal packs,” said Wisetree. “When the lead male dies, the female grows…manly parts…and takes over his role. If the female dies, one of the children will go through accelerated growth and become the new pack leader.”

  “You know a lot about them,” said Dantis, impressed.

  “I’ve had nothing to do but watch through my roots. I find them fascinating.”

  “No kill,” said Xig, crouching by one child horn-bug and stroking it.

  Dantis tried not to look at the bug, but he couldn’t help it. They’re so scared. So deliciously scared.

  His mud hand trembled. It seemed that while he was in his new body, his senses treated it as though it was real, and he felt pain and all the other sensations he’d normally feel. Now, his pulse quickened, and a drumbeat sounded in his head, behind his eyes.

  Before he could stop himself, he sucked a plume of spirit from the bugs. Not much; just enough to taste their terror.

  Xig grunted. “Bad Dantis. Bad.”

  “They’re just insects, Xig. They can’t feel anything.”

  Wait. That wasn’t true, was it? When he drained from the bugs, he’d tasted the fear in their spirit. If they could feel fear, they could feel other things, too.

  One shadow fiend stroked the head of a horn-bug and spoke soothingly to it.

  “You think the dungeon will draw heroes here?” Wisetree said.

  “Let’s hope so. I don’t see how else I can do it. Other than Gabreel, nobody else comes here.”

  “Do you really trust him with a message?”

  “What have I got to lose?” said Dantis.

  “When Zaemira is involved, there’s always something to lose, even when you think she can’t possibly take any more from you. Trust me on that.”

  “Where is she?” said Dantis. “You know, don’t you?”

  “She’s close.”

  “Tell me.”

  Wisetree seemed to think on this. “No,” he said. “Some things are best undisturbed. Best for you, me, and her. C’mon, get the bugs in the dungeon.”

  Dantis followed Xig and the fiends to the dungeon entrance, which was a mouth-shaped hole cut into the front of it. Staring at it, Dantis was taken back to the time in the forests years ago, where he and Ethan had tried to hide in a dungeon.

  Xig kneeled beside an infant B. “No be scared,” he said, stroking its head. “Be tough.”

  Shame wrapped around him like a tight-fitting cloak. What am I doing? He had to turn away as Xig and the others led the bugs deep into the dungeon. It was stupid, but Dantis couldn’t even go into a dungeon of his own creation. Even though he knew everything that was in there, the darkness and cramped tunnels were thick with foreboding.

  I’m too scared to go into my own dungeon, and I’m sacrificing helpless bugs for my own benefit. What are the barrens doing to me?

  Xig and the others emerged from the dungeon.

  “You guys can leave now,” Dantis said. “Go rest in the city. I might need you again tomorrow.”

  “Spirit?” said Xig, his eyes wide.

  “Here you go.”

  Dantis sent a waft of spirit to the fiends, coating their shadow forms. They seemed to bask in it, holding up their arms as if they stood under a shower of sunlight. With that done, they trundled back to Yutula-na, humming a song as they went.

  “What now, my little grub?” said Wisetree.

  Dantis shook his thoughts away. “Now we wait for Gabreel to come back this way.”

  ~

  Gabreel emerged from Dantis’s dungeon. Dirt stained his beige tunic, but he was otherwise unmarked.

  As well as delivering a message to the heroes’ guild, Gabreel had offered his services as a dungeon surveyor. This was a vital step in opening any dungeon, he told Dantis, and he wasn’t just a trader; in his youth, he’d been apprenticed to a dungeon master. He’d earned a surveyor license from the Dungeon Commission, and that let him evaluate new lairs and tombs.

  At first, Dantis hadn’t been interested in getting a rating for his new tomb of terrors, but he relented when Gabreel told him one key fact; heroes’ guilds wouldn’t even get out of bed for an unrated dungeon.

  Dantis clenched his fists. It was all he could do to stop himself pacing around. What rank would Gabreel give his dungeon?

  Gabreel didn’t say a word. He stared at the structure with a hand on his chin, in a thoughtful pose.

  Don’t say anything. Don’t let him know I’m eager…damn it, I can’t hold it in!

  “Well?” said Dantis.

  “It’s small, but well-built for what it is,” said Gabreel. “Your traps need work; a child could break them. No dead-ends and no false walls, which is disappointing. Heroes like secret loot, y’know. They want to feel clever.”

  Dantis felt strangely pricked by criticism of his dungeon. “Go on…”

  “The ambience in there is good; nice use of flickering torches,” said Gabreel. “But, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to give you an F grade.”

  “F?”

  “It could be worse.”

  “What, I could get a G grade?”

  “No…F is the last grade. But you could have been ungraded.”

  “Damn it. Okay, I don’t have time to fix it. Can you get word to the guild about my dungeon?”

  Gabreel leaned back against his cart. “They won’t come all the way out here for an F-grade. Trust me. Look, I’ll do you a deal. I was going to leave today, but I can st
ay for one more week to give you time to work on your dungeon.”

  “I’m sensing a catch.”

  “Your senses are perfect. I want half.”

  “Half of what?”

  Gabreel grinned. “Everything. Every bit of stone your blurry little fiends fetch. Half of every resource they bring for you.”

  Dantis shook his head. He knew when he was being shaken down, and Ethan always taught him not to stand for it. “No way in Hell.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Gabreel. “You can just wait for the next person to travel through the Barrens. Shouldn’t be longer than a decade or two, I don’t think.”

  Dantis looked at Wisetree, hoping he had something useful to add.

  “I haven’t seen anyone except Zaemira in twelve years,” Wisetree said.

  It didn’t leave him with much choice. There was no use building a dungeon if nobody knew about it, and Gabreel was the only one of them who could leave the barrens. There was no way of forcing Gabreel to help; even if he agreed to deliver message about his dungeon under duress, Dantis lost control of him as soon as he left the barrens.

  “Fine. How can I improve my dungeon grade?”

  “For seventy-five percent of your resources, present and future, I’ll tell you exactly what you need to do to the letter,” said Gabreel.

  I know who I’m dealing with now. There were three kinds of people; the honest, the blatantly dishonest, and the hidden dishonest. Gabreel presented himself as the first, before revealing himself as the third. From now on, Dantis would have to watch the trader. It was just a shame that the only person who could help him, happened to be the most dishonest.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “No, we don’t. fifty percent was the deal, so you can shove your advice up your arse. I’ll see you in a week.”

  ~

  Wisetree chewed on the bones of a hare Xig had caught for him. He smacked his lips. “What do you think the problem could be?”

  “The way you said that makes me think you know the answer.”

  “Perhaps I do,” said Wisetree. “But I wouldn’t be a good mentor if I just told you.”

  “Is that how you see yourself?”

  “Come on, grub. Why might Gabreel give you a low grade?”

  Maybe he’d created the dungeon incorrectly. But then, Gabreel didn’t criticize the structure too much. It could have been his traps, but were poor traps enough to give a dungeon the lowest possible grade? There were just so many variables. It was no good. He didn’t have enough experience in dungeons to know this.

  “I think it’s time we changed the way things worked around here,” said Wisetree.

  “You’re beginning to sound like Gabreel.”

  “I’m not a charity, grub. I know you’re looking for a mentor. You want some kindly old father figure to guide you out here, but-”

  “A carnivorous, cranky tree isn’t my idea of an idol.”

  Wisetree waved a branch dismissively. “That’s as maybe, but I know things, and you need me. But in turn, I’ll require a reward.”

  “I’m not pruning your leaves, so you can forget it.”

  “I want meat, my good grub. I want bones, blood, and bowels. I want long-cooked limbs, sautéed stomachs, boiled brains, flame-grilled flesh…”

  Dantis grimaced. He hated watching Wisetree eat, and he loathed the idea of helping him do it any more than was necessary. Again – what choice did he have?

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “For every meal you bring me, I will answer a question. And to show you that I’m fair, I’ll take the ogres into account.”

  What could he say? Wisetree was right; he needed his help. He should have known that nothing came for free, not even out here in the Barrens.

  “Damn it. Fine. I have three questions left in that case. So…”

  “Two, by my counts.”

  “How? I fed you two sets of ogres, and a hare.”

  “Xig caught it, not you. That doesn’t count.”

  “And what does that matter?” said Dantis. “Whether I killed it or not, you got your meat. Hang on…you want to see me trap stuff for you, don’t you? You get a kick out of it.”

  “Do you want my help, or not?”

  “Fine. Two questions left. I’ll use one of ‘em. Why has Gabreel given me such a shitty grade?”

  Wisetree shaped his mouth cavity into a grin. “Heroes guilds aren’t what they used to be. As years go on, less and less people sign up, and guild numbers are plummeting. The rich call on them less frequently than they used to; after all, it’s easier to pay a merc mage a one-off fee to get rid of your troll, than to pay a yearly guild subscription.”

  “I get it. They’re losing money and not many people join guilds anymore, so they have to be careful where they send their men.”

  “Correct. This led to the rating system, which they made to ensure a dungeon is worth travelling to. A tit dungeon in the barrens isn’t an attraction.”

  “Damn it. What can I do?”

  “Well, what would a hero want in a dungeon?”

  “To kill monsters.”

  “No, grub,” said Wisetree. “That’s a consequence, not a motivation. Why do heroes go to dungeons?”

  “To earn loot.”

  “Correct! They want to navigate a labyrinth and then get to the treasure room at the end.”

  “I don’t have anything. I mean, I could cast an illusion of a treasure chest when Gabreel inspects it again.”

  “Good. But there’s one thing we’re missing. What’s the other prime motivation for a hero to conquer a dungeon?”

  “For the glory of it. Fame.”

  “Any there’s no glory conquering a dungeon full of horn-bugs. If you can make it look like there are better monsters in there, I bet it’ll boost you up another grade or two.”

  Dantis shook his head. “I can only cast illusions of things I’ve seen. I don’t think I’ve ever met a dungeon-worthy monster.”

  “Then you’re going to have to send your fiends on another hunt.”

  Another hunt. He was all too aware that he was treating Xig and the fiends like slaves, asking them to do the things he couldn’t accomplish himself. And if he was even able to, would he have done it? Would he have captured a nest of horn-bugs? Would he have combed the barrens for other animals to drag into his dungeon, where they’d be nothing but fodder for heroes to slice through?

  He was losing himself in the Barrens. Maybe all this time, Ethan had been his moral compass, and now that they were separated, Dantis was showing his true self. Depp down, beneath it all, maybe he was a cold-hearted monster who’d do anything to survive.

  Take the horn-bugs. Before Dantis came to the Barrens, they’d lived in nests, families of dozens scratching around in the dirt, bothering nobody. They weren’t mindless, because they could feel fear. So, what else could they experience?

  “Xig?” he said.

  Feet scratched across the ground, and soon, Xig stood before him, his white lines shining amidst his charcoal body. “Grub need?”

  “Fetch me the horn-bugs.”

  “No kill,” said Xig.

  “I’m not going to kill them.”

  Xig and his fiends corralled the horn-bugs toward Dantis. He felt the fear emanating from them, shards of it cutting through the wind, begging him to taste it, but he couldn’t.

  “What do their nests look like?” he asked.

  Xig looked puzzled.

  “Do they live underground? In the weeds?”

  “Rocks. Shade,” said Xig.

  “Okay, so we need…”

  He hadn’t seen the horn-bugs nest, so casting an illusion of it was impossible. Instead, he worked with Xig, listening to his descriptions, questioning him, perfect the vision of a nest in front of him until Xig nodded. Then, he sent spirit into it, and the nest took shape for real.

  The largest, eldest horn-bug scampered into the nest, followed by its family. The aura in the air changed now; the fear lessened.
Gradually, it turned neutral, and then softened, until Dantis detected something else.

  He breathed spirit from them, and this time, a different emotion filled him; they were content. Not happy, but content. And that was much better to taste than fear.

  Dantis let the emotion swirl through him. He wouldn’t let the barrens change him, he decided. Or, if the callousness already lived inside him, he wouldn’t let the barrens bring it out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ethan

  The grimape ran toward him, teeth bared, fury tightening on its face. It dropped onto all fours as it reached him. Ethan shifted his weight onto his right foot, and he stood the way Reck had taught him.

  The grimape snapped its jaws his way. Its shoulders bulged with muscle, and spit flew from its lips. Ethan swiped with his short sword, cleaving its back. The ape roared. Mana spat off it, and its image flickered like a flame in a storm. Ethan struck it again and this time, the image disappeared.

  “Hoo,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  He stabbed the tip of his short sword into the ground. Not good enough. His technique was improving under Reck’s tutelage, but his right-hand fingers hadn’t healed enough for him to use a two-handed blade yet. A short sword was the only weapon he could lift in his left hand, and that meant softer blows.

  Damn the Wolfpine guard who’d clubbed him. Damn Bander and his rehabilitation. Damn Yart and Bunk.

  As soon as he thought Yart’s name, a rush of vertigo hit him, and he felt himself plummet from the guildhouse, tumbling thirty feet through the air and smashing into the ground, his bones crunching through his skin, bending in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. He felt it every time he closed his eyes, every time he looked up at the guild walls or windows.

  But after it happened, he’d woken up in his bed, the same as every other morning. The recruits were dressing around him, getting ready before Reck stomped into the dorm. None of them seemed surprised to see Ethan, and in fact, most of them ignored him. Everything was normal.

  Well, almost everything. Ethan started to think that it had all been a dream, that he couldn’t possibly have fallen thirty feet from the guild. After all, he wouldn’t have survived that, would he?