The Hidden Illusionist Read online

  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 stay 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 cut
ting 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?

  And yet…why did he have talon marks on his hands? And where was Dullzewn? It was three days after his fall, and Ethan still hadn’t seen him and nobody, not even Reck, knew where he was.

  This left him feeling more confused and alone and ever, and not even a full session of Reck’s training could dull his emotions enough, so he’d stayed behind after the other recruits went to their meals.

  It had been morning when he entered the stone-strewn yard, but now the sun had fled, leaving a darkening sky and the twinkles of stars, the little jewels of the Night King’s cape. Torch light flickered in the guildhouse windows, dozens of orange blotches amidst the dark stone. The aroma of bread and pies and gravy drifted to him, and Ethan’s stomach tightened. Beyond the guildhouse and across the mountain, wolves cried to each other, and klizerd clans croaked their evening songs.

  All the other recruits had left hours ago, but Ethan couldn’t. He had too many bad habits to lose, Reck told him, too many home-taught sword techniques that would stop him growing as a swordsman. The critique didn’t bother Ethan. If anything, it fueled him.

  He was too different from the other recruits; he knew that now. He’d tried to fit in, but it wasn’t possible, but nor could he be his old self. Look where his natural distrust had gotten him – he’d fallen from a guild window. No, he needed an in-between ground. To keep his old pragmatism but find someone he could trust. Damn it, where was Dullzewn?

  The mana sphere drifted twenty feet away from him, spherical and bulging and suspended in the air. Part of it stretched out and separated into a sheet of blue light, before forming into another grimape image. The globule of mana behind the newly-created creature shrunk.

  Lillian provided these balls of mana. He was advanced enough to be able to cast a spell and preserve it in mana, allowing the recruits to use it for training. It wasn’t an illusion, Reck had explained, but the images weren’t real. “I don’t understand this shit,” he said, “But it’s good to train on.” Amen, Ethan thought. I don’t have a clue how it works either.

  The ape ran at him. Ethan shifted into the rushaj-pose, with his feet positioned for optimal movement and the tip of his sword facing out from his chest. The poses Reck taught him were becoming second nature. The truth was, he was beginning to enjoy the heroes’ guild. So why did Yart have to ruin it?

  The ape leapt at him. Ethan ducked and struck upward in an arc. His sword felt light in his hands, and he found himself swinging it faster than he ever had before.

  The blade scratched across its chest. That’s for Yart.

  The ape stumbled. Ethan jabbed at it, cutting into its skin. That’s for Bunk.

  It dropped to its knees. Ethan grit his teeth and rushed at it. He held his sword aloft. Anger flushed through him. And this is for….

  The ape disappeared, and he swiped at thin air, losing his balance and hitting the ground. Pain spread in his nose. He coughed and pushed himself off the ground.

  “It’s getting late, boy,” called a voice. A window was open on the fourth floor of the guild house, high above Ethan. Lillian leaned on the sill, smoke trailing from a pipe in his hand. “Get back in the dorms.”

  “Reck said I could stay and train.”

  “And who ranks higher, boy? Me, or the illiterate swordmaster? Get in the dorms.”

  “Fuck off, you iron faced arse,” Ethan mumbled.

  “It’s steel, boy, not iron. Get inside.”

  As Ethan wondered how the mage had heard him from so far away, two recruits walked passed. He recognized one of them as Adam, a shy boy who always nodded to Ethan in the common room. He didn’t know the other one, but his long nose reminded him of a rat.

  “The thief kid’s back,” said Adam. “I heard they found him in the woods.”

  “Another one trying to run.”

  Ethan faced them. “Do you mean Dullzewn?”

  Adam nodded at him. “He’s in the dorm.”

  The dorm was busy with recruits chatting with each other, playing cards, and slurping on ales they’d stolen from the kitchens. It was an hour after the evening feast. Ethan’s belly rumbled. He’d chosen to train instead of eating, and he was starting to regret it. I have to train, I have to adapt. Can’t end up like the old guy in Wolfpine.

  Question flood his mind as he strode into the dorm. Had Dullzewn really tried to run? Why? Surely he knew he couldn’t leave without them removing his bracelet? But even more urgent than that was his other question; did Dullzewn remember what had happened to Ethan?

  At the end of the dorm, Dullzewn sat on his bed with a book on his lap. Sweat from a day of training plastered his greasy long locks to his forehead. He wore wide-brimmed glasses, which was strange, but it explained something. Maybe that was why he was so uncoordinated when they used swords – Dullzewn never wore glasses in the training yard.

  Ethan noticed with irritation that Yart and Bunk were standing at the end of the bed. Yart kept trying to snatch the book from Dullzewn. Bunk pounded on the bed frame, his giant fists making it shake.

  “Come on, book wyrm,” said Yart. “It’s
no fun goading you when you don’t react.”

  Dullzewn turned a page. His face was devoid of emotion, as though he was dead inside. Pity stirred in Ethan’s stomach, mixing with anger when he touched his wrists and traced his fingers over the scratches from the ropes Yart had tied on him.

  Bullies wouldn’t quit of their own accord; you had to scare them into backing off. Bunk’s hulking frame made it hard to get physical with Yart, and Ethan paused in the dorm hallway. Was he going to do this?