Dragonheart Core

Chapter 143: Gifts of a Fool

Chapter 143: Gifts of a Fool

With frustrating ease, the bloody invaders made their way through the Drowned Forest.

I was every shade of fury imaginable but not to the point of sacrifice—Nicau wasn't near strong enough to defend himself, and I rather doubted such a miserable bastard like Gonçal would defend him, and so I had to call my creatures back. I kept the raid-frenzy down, only the innate simmer whenever foreign mana crawled into my halls, and they strode through like a marvelous fucking paradise. They hardly bloodied their daggers on a few stone-backed toads and the occasional burrowing rat.

What a delight for them. What a wonderful vacation.

I seethed overhead, points of awareness swarming like a building storm. I was going to murder them.

Nicau did his best to ignore my rage. He only tripped a few times.

For his part, Gonçal seemed to notice that it was painfully easy, and his hackles stayed raised and eyes boiling with mana. He'd invaded me before when a fifty-person party had cleared the path first, and months later, it was even easier; not the normal progression. They hopped their way over bubbling canals on empty rocks as Nicau knew to avoid the lichenridge turtles, staying far from vampiric mangroves, never so much as dipping their toes into the water. Assholes.

But he said he had a plan, and I was giving him until, oh, one mistake to prove it before I killed them both.

And it was that way they found their way through the entirety of my second floor, nary a confrontation under their belt, my mana soothing the kobold tribe and softening the danger until they were marching down the final tunnel to the entrance for the Underlake. Easily. Fast.

Nicau, with an apathy that betrayed how many times he'd been here and a discomfort that also showed how much he didn't enjoy jumping into the Underlake despite the understanding that his Name would protect him, squinted at the water. It lapped peacefully at the edges of the stone, disquieting, nothing but an illusion to the horrors underneath.

"Steady yourself," Gonçal rumbled, in a remarkable show of good care. "I have been to the third floor before, and it is not for the faint of heart."

Oh, he certainly had been here before. And he'd made a damning mistake.

"Yeah," Nicau echoed, looking away from the water and around them; still was I keeping the most dangerous creatures from their backs, though it killed me to do so, and they were in a perfectly enclosed little paradise amidst a hell. Kobolds snarling overhead, teeth and spears extended; greater crabs scuttling through underbrush; electric eels crackling in canals. By all accounts, if not dead, they should at least have been pushed harder than they had been.

But they hadn't. Because I was a miserable fool who was allowing Nicau to at least attempt his plan before I gave up on patience and killed them both.

Nicau glanced overhead, to one of my points of awareness, lurking like a bird in flight. "Are we deep enough?"

Gonçal paused. So did I.

"Deep enough?" He repeated, confusion flickering on the edge of his words. "I thought you were here to do research. You said you've already been to the second floor before."

Nicau hesitated.

Ah. The question had been to me, instead.

I would say that the first five feet of my dungeon was plenty enough to kill Gonçal outright, but I could agree that having it be a little deeper to keep him from merrily running his way out was not a terrible plan. I pushed acceptance through our connection.

Whatever his plan was, it had better be of the fatal variety.

"Look," Nicau said, looking quite the world like his next words would be through the murmur of sleep. "I don't really want to kill you."

Which. Sure. I was actively enhancing his abilities with Otherworld mana alongside a Name, and I still thought Gonçal would snap him in half.

The thief certainly seemed to agree, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "I appreciate the sentiment," he said dryly, but mana coiled within him, the lightning spark of readiness. He'd already been wary, which served him fucking right, entering my dungeon with my stolen wisp around his neck—but now he was a beast tensed in face of Nicau's dismissive comments.

My wonderful negotiator.

My wonderful incorrect negotiator, because I did want to kill Gonçal, very much so. The acceptance dropped from my mana and ire replaced it, hunger, the desire for scarlet blood cast over the rocks and desolation alongside it.

Nicau straightened, mana flowing over his tongue, alighting through his channels and rampaging through our connection. Gonçal stiffened to a knife's edge as the boy before him rose, strength unseen boiling over, exhaustion fading away as my power sank into him. Still tired, still rubbing his eyes, but– more.

"I'll put it this way," he said, mana drifting from his eyes. "I don't want to kill you, but someone much more powerful than me does. So. Cooperate, and maybe don't die, or don't, and definitely die."

I barked a jackal's laugh through the ambient mana, harsh enough that Nicau flinched. Oh, I had a polite little feeling that the maybe wasn't near enough to save him.

I did not parlay with thieves.

Gonçal, for his part, went very still.

He'd been a coiled beast facing Nicau, all too aware of the budding betrayal, but now his eyes met the air with a fear so delicious I could have feasted on it. Looking around at the air like it was poisoned to strike, something with teeth and claws and wings. A sea-drake, hiding in the shadows.

Which I was. And I was oh so hungry.

"Ealdhere wasn't lying," he whispered, and then frowned, concern flickering over his mana. Oh, he hadn't wanted to say that aloud—maybe Nicau's command of cooperate had worked, even if he hadn't said it like he normally did. Either way, it didn't matter. I was still going to kill him.

The name was curious, though. Of all the souls I'd devoured, that word resonated through their memories; the one who told them of the dangers found inside and how to avoid the smallest and most pathetic of them. The Scholar of the Adventuring Guild, though a pitiful one in face of Akkyst's brilliance.

But wasn't lying about what?

About me?

If that damnable Scholar was telling all the invaders about my magnificence, I would take a moment to appreciate it before cleaving his head from his shoulders. My secrets were mine to contain.

Nicau hummed, interest prickling over his thoughts. He'd noticed the slip as well. "What are you talking about?"

"I was sent," Gonçal said, slow, hesitant, wary as a hatchling caught outside the waves, "to speak to the dungeon, and make an alliance if I was capable."

Oh the fuck was he not.

I had one useless bloody sycophant who brought thieves to my doorstep and proffered alliances without my blessing. I did not need another.

Nicau winced around my reflected fury, scrubbing at his eyes. "Okay," he said, like it was nothing more surprising than comments about the weather. "You're speaking to it. What kind of alliance did you mean?"

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A very temporary one that ended in bloodshed. My preferred variant.

Gonçal swallowed around something. He looked supremely uncomfortable, which was delightful; although I didn't know the entirety of what had led to Nicau needing to fake an invasion with someone else, it was clear that Gonçal had thought he was at least more powerful than Nicau. And while he wasn't wrong, there was the glorious little difference that Gonçal was not more powerful than a dungeon, even less so than me.

He didn't like it. I liked that immensely.

"I bring gifts," he said, cautious. I didn't have the same innate understanding of him as I did my Named or dungeonborn, but from the flickers of mana racing alongside his movements and the sparks in his eyes, I knew he was lying. He hadn't brought them with the idea they would be gifts, but he was plenty willing to give them in hopes it might preserve his life.

It wouldn't, but I would let him present them like they would.

Nicau nodded, stepping back to give him some room in the tunnel. His exhaustion played well here, letting him act like this was all normal, nothing more than rote conversation. It was half the reason I was letting him still talk instead of screaming my mana into the miserable thief's mind.

Slowly, Gonçal divested himself of everything he was carrying. Chains, silver and fine, engraved with runes of sleep and holding—the same he'd used to capture living creatures and drag them from my halls. Vials, made of frosted glass, for samples and collections; bottles with mysterious liquids inside. Plenty to study and learn from.

Not the real prize.

A moment of hesitation—true frustration flickering over his eyes—and then Gonçal reached around his neck, to the leather armour that wrapped around his bronze scales. My points of awareness swarmed in, flickering and crackling like crashing stars.

Gonçal grabbed the leather cord around his neck and pulled out the wolf-wisp.

My mana sharpened to a dagger's edge.

She was contained within a crystalline cage, shining and jagged and far too small for her true form. Power thrummed over its surface, runes carved into its glossy surface, blurring the transparency until only the whisper of movement could be seen below, the rampaging limbs of my elemental, my lost soul.

Something bitter flashed through Gonçal's eyes as he carefully unwrapped the necklace—necklace, he'd turned my beloved creature into nothing more than a common accessory—from around his neck. There had to be a reason he kept her on him, even when invading a dungeon, rather than tucking her away in some safe prison.

She was important to him; he didn't want to give her up.

Well. Too fucking bad for him. It wasn't like he'd live to see the consequences.

"And a return," he said cautiously, crouching, bronze scales flaring in the quartz-light. "I humbly apologize for taking without permission."

I'd admit that he had a pretty tongue where it counted, although being in the presence of a dungeon tended to remind everyone of the concept of respect. And if he truly regretted it, he clearly wouldn't have taken her from me in the first place.

Gonçal knelt, wary, and set the crystal on the stone. Movement again within, the thrash of a living beast strung up like jewelry. As if sensing my fury—it likely wasn't difficult—he stood and took an immediate step away, near fleeing the consequences of his own actions.

It wouldn't save him.

Nicau saw the wisp and immediately winced, understanding finally cloaking his thoughts. I knew my anger had bled through our connection, but clearly he'd been a touch too distracted to know the reason that this thief would die today, and he'd been content to play house otherwise. But no further.

"Okay," he said again, because apparently the mortal need for sleep was so strong that nothing was distracting now. What a pitiful weakness. "Those are good gifts. Uh. Thanks."

Was he thanking Gonçal for me?

Far bolder than he should be.

Gonçal nodded stiffly, eyes still fixed overhead, like he could peer past the stone and find my looming body. He couldn't, but it wasn't like my hunger was any more hidden than the mana coiling around the two of them. I wouldn't distract myself with freeing my wisp, not until he was dead.

An alliance. He was more a fool than I thought. What alliance could I possibly make with a thief?

"Are you a good liar?" Nicau asked, and then frowned—before Gonçal could respond, Nicau sunk his feet into the stone and closed his eyes, mana crackling over his tongue, eyes flaring blue-white. "Answer."

The Blessing of the Communer flowed between them.

"I lied to Lluc's face and survived," Gonçal said, frustration twisting his face as the words, presumably, left his mouth without consent. How pitiful. I felt so terrible for him.

"Great," Nicau said tiredly. "Then you can say we got separated, and you don't know if I'm alive or not."

Excuse me?

That sounded an awful lot like Nicau was thinking I would let him go.

Nicau, I crooned, since I hardly cared now if Gonçal felt the mana of me communicating with my Named, I want him dead.

"I know," he said, very hesitantly. "But he might be worth more alive."

Gonçal stiffened like he'd just become encased in stone.

His death, I said, sweetly, will bring me enough worth.

Nicau nodded. "Of course, o' dungeon," he said, which was polite, but he still hadn't reached for his godsdamn dagger and Gonçal remained infuriatingly unstabbed. "But–" he turned to the man, shoulders raising as if they could cover up his exhaustion. "Someone sent him to make an alliance, and I don't think they'd do that if they wanted your core."

Adorable. Trying to find motivations. My mana hissed at him.

"And, well–" Nicau stared at Gonçal, brow furrowing. "If you made an alliance, would you cross us?" He straightened again, more Otherworld mana pouring to his tongue. "Answer."

"I know you will kill me if I betray you," Gonçal said bitterly, hackles raised. "And I refuse to die before I dethrone my master's legacy and replace it with mine."

Oh. Well.

I stared at him, a thousand scintillating points of awareness with sight far past mortal vision and scouring into the mana beneath. The chains and cages and charms he'd gifted me for his survival; the wolf-wisp in her crystalline prison. The boiling frustration in his outwardly-calm face.

Whoever he was, he had some level of power; but not necessarily strength. Nicau's thoughts whispered of a Silent Market, a name I'd heard echoed elsewhere, and little thieves with delusions of grandeur did not try to make alliances with dungeons.

It seemed like he'd had other plans. Ones he was willing to abandon if it meant his life.

Don't misunderstand me, I wanted him dead and slain and scattered to the rocks far below, but there was something deeply enjoyable about fostering a terrible deal on his shoulders instead and watching him suffer through it. A punishment for taking my wisp that extended far past the immediate relief of just killing him.

I was not a particularly patient creature, but I did savor extended satisfaction.

Perhaps I would allow him to explain himself before I slaughtered him like the rat he was.

"There you go," Nicau said, almost blithely, like he wasn't signing someone's death warrant with a secret that would damn him in every conceivable way. "You can go tell Ealdhere you made contact with the dungeon, and that we were separated and you believe me dead." He paused, pinching his nose. "Fuck, the Marquesa."

The Marquesa?

This was why I needed time to meet with Nicau before he went around making hare-mad plans without me. I hated missing information.

Because he was a perfectly spineless fool, Nicau sensed my ire, wincing up at the ceiling. "She's the one who organized this delve," he said, properly demure. "I think she's trying to dethrone the Dread Pirate."

Oh. Oh.

Well, he could have mentioned that before. I hardly needed any help in my grand plan, and I would not allow anyone else to strike the winning blow when that belonged to my claws alone, but anyone to keep the miserable bastard who had killed me scared was someone acceptable in my mind.

Gonçal's lips tightened to a pale white streak across his face. Not fond of being out of the loop, it seemed.

Well. If he was going to survive even a moment longer, he was going to have to endure that. I still wanted to kill him—oh, how I wanted to shred his useless intestines and devour his soul and feed his mana into the wisp he had stolen—but I could appreciate suffering. He hadn't earned a quick and pitiful death.

And I was plenty content to know that was my idea, instead of Nicau's half-asleep, half-empty plan. How in the hells had he managed to conduct all of this in, what, two days free of my dungeon? He was an ineloquent fool who stumbled over his own devotion more often than he succeeded in it. How had he managed to convince someone named after royalty to partner with him? His blessing only extended to language.

Or at least it had, until he'd come back weaving commands into existence.

…was that how he had made a deal with the Marquesa, whoever she was? He was not a particularly clever character, not in terms of talk or mind, but his mana sparked easily to his tongue without or without his intention, it seemed. Perhaps he had just been talking to her like normal and then something in his words had changed to convince her to go along with his lies. That would certainly make more sense than Nicau—the pigeoncatcher—somehow traipsing around like some reborn god of mythicality.

Hrm. Something to ponder over.

But for now, I would allow Gonçal a few more miserable seconds to live, even if only to convince me of his worth.

Make him speak, I murmured, dagger-sharp in his mind. And then you and I will talk.

Nicau winced. "Of course, o' dungeon."

At least someone understood this.