James A. Hunter
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Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Thirty
🕑 Added 2022-11-14 18:00:09 +0000 UTCShadowcroft motioned for Logan to sit. Wintersylver was already in a desk next to Lolozi Webbs.
Professor Suresh’s white suit brought out the orange in his tiger stripes. A diamond necklace glittered around his neck. Equally as well dressed was Yullis Rockheart, though he had gone with formal red and black robes. He didn’t sit but stood hulking on the side of the room, grimacing.
Logan could guess why.
Weavelord frowned as Lolozi Webbs raised her chin. Her eight legs rested in a web behind her. “I have to agree with Skip. Excuse me, Headmaster Shadowcroft.”
“Skip is fine,” the tree man said with a wave of a wooden hand. “Despite Yullis’ attire, I believe we can drop some of the formality here. First and foremost, we are comrades united in a single goal, to provide education for dungeon cores.”
“I agree completely,” Lolozi said, her webs vibrating. “Although I appreciate dear Wintersylver’s courage in the face of this tragedy, we cannot let our students be slaughtered by this maniac. If he found the locations of our Semi-Finals, he most certainly will find the two cores who will be fighting in the Finals. We’ve already lost enough promising young stars.”
Weavelord scurried up to stand on his desk. “That might not be case, Madam Headmaster. You said to drop the formalities, but as a representative of the Dungeon of Universal Dungeon Efficiency, I rely on formalities. For example, I will now say hello to Ms. Therian. Good morning to you, Mrs. Therian. See? All very formal.”
Marko was slouched in his seat. “Yeah, formalities rock. So, tell me, spider man, why might that not be the case?”
Weavelord’s cheeks colored with anger. “Mr. Weavelord is how you will address me, Mr. Laskarelis. If you would’ve read the tournament rules, you would know that the worlds for the Finals are chosen at the last minute, when a fresh Celestial Node appears. No one will know the locations ahead of time.”
Marko stared at Wintersylver. “So that means if anyone had ratted out dungeons during the Semi-Finals, they couldn’t do it in the Finals. Right, Wintersylver?”
The White Wyrm nodded. “That is correct, Marko, though I can’t imagine why you’re looking at me like that. I don’t need outside help to defeat the likes of you.”
“If you must know,” Marko snapped, “I’m paranoid. Because I have reasons to be paranoid. Because there’s a good chance, you are an agent of the Zeta Ridiculans, who are being manipulated by the Deep Dark, who are in turn, infected by the Spore Lords, who want nothing more than to destroy the Tree of Souls.”
“That’s enough,” Inga snapped, shooting Marko a frosty stare. “I would like to apologize, Ms. Gracefreeze, for Marko’s outburst. Of course you had nothing to do with Lou Shador’s discovery of the Semi-Final locations.”
Logan gave Inga a nod. She was right to step in. They couldn’t accuse Wintersylver without proof. Besides, they just might be able to use her connection to Lou Shador to their benefit. But how?
Logan didn’t know. But he did know cancelling the tournament felt wrong. He wasn’t sure why.
Wintersylver sniffed, “I’m not surprised you’re treating me so awfully. Clearly you have misjudged me, just as you misjudged poor Melvin, who you helped murder.”
Inga about exploded, but Logan put up a hand to remind her to keep her cool.
Marko shook his head. “This is emotional manipulation, bringing up Melvin, and I’m not going to fall for it. Melvin was great. He’s gone. We mourn him every… single… day.”
Professor Suresh sighed loudly and took out an emery board and started to sharpen his nails.
Shadowcroft gave him a concerned look.
Suresh didn’t care. The Ninth Circle, the dungeon cores in Suresh’s clan, weren’t competing, and so he had nothing to gain by any of this.
Rockheart, though, left the wall and marched into the center of the room. “The fact that four of the six cores competing in this years’ competition were targeted is damning, but it doesn’t necessarily mean we were betrayed. Every dungeon core knows the risks—protecting a node comes with risks.
“And let us not forget,” he growled, “that we leaked some information ourselves, in order to lure dungeoneers in. It was why the Lupine Fury knew about Logan’s excellent dungeon. Although unlikely, it is not above the possibility that an especially observant dungeoneer might’ve been able to piece together our clues and sniff out the location of all the participating dungeons. This is devastating, no doubt, but it also demonstrates exactly what is on the line. It is why we train the way that we do.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Logan said.
Rockheart didn’t respond. He kept on with his rant. “Dungeons these days have it easy. Back in our day, we’d lose half a class to the raiders. With that in mind, it makes perfect sense to proceed with the Finals. As we all know, there is a great deal of money to be made from sponsors, from boosters, from merchandise. This is our academy’s year to shine, and I am more than willing to put the lives of my students on the line. In fact, I say let Lou Shador come. He’s just some A-Class in a cape. Logan and Inga killed that skunk shifter, and she was an A-Class.”
Weavelord leapt off his desk and scurried up to Rockheart. It was like a chihuahua staring down a rottweiler. “This is different. Petula Cloudsweat was a low-ranked A-Class, mentally unstable, with questionable powers based on flatulence. Lou Shador is high-ranked and dangerously close to becoming a Heartwood Cultivator. That’s S-Class. A true S-Class dungeoneer. We can’t have that. If we continue the competition, we are signing the death warrants of all these students and countless other dungeons besides!”
“I agree,” Shadowcroft said. “We should use the Tartarucha Cells. Or we could run courses here in Arborea just as we do for the first years. I would even consider a change of format. Perhaps a dungeon duel? That would be unique and novel. Surely, we could drum up some additional drama between Logan and Wintersylver to sell to the sponsors.”
“You’re going down, ice butt!” Marko yelled over at the Wintersylver. “We can’t be beat. We won’t be beat. Gonna take you to school to learn the golden rule. We’re the best, and you’ll die like the rest.”
The wyvern woman squinted. “You don’t have anything to do with this, you strange little goat man. Why are you even here?”
Logan got up and marched into the center of the room. “He’s here because he’s going to be fighting with me, Inga, and Treacle. The tournament committee said I could bring in the rest of my cohort for the Finals. That’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to lure in Lou Shador to our dungeon, and we’re going to kill him.”
There was a gasp.
Rockheart clapped his two big stony hands together. “Very good, Logan Murray. Yes. That is the spirit. That is why I have spent so much time on your education. How is the twine going?”
“Terrible,” Logan said. He walked up to Shadowcroft, who looked rather silly sitting in a desk—like a Tolkien ent vising a kindergarten class at Hubbell Elementary School in Des Moines, Iowa.
“Headmaster Shadowcroft,” Logan started, “This isn’t about the competition. I don’t care who wins at this point. This is about stopping a very dangerous dungeoneer who has already killed four worlds.”
“I should do it then,” the headmaster said. “We can trick him. You can build it, and I can step in.”
“Two problems with that,” Weavelord scurried over, sweating a little. “One, you have the Shadowcroft Academy audit, which you’ve postponed for centuries. This is the year, my friend. What is the death of worlds when compared to tax liabilities? Secondly, we’ve learned that Lou Shador is a sophisticated player in the dungeoneering scene. He already has the resources of the Scarlet Paradox at his disposal. He’ll know if a third-party steps in.”
The dungeon accountant turned and scurried over to Logan. “I’ve analyzed your Apothos usage, and your abilities. You have promise, Mr. Murray. As does Ms. Therian and Mr. Glimmerhappy. Your satyr friend, however, is questionable.”
“Highly questionable,” Marko spouted off. “So many questions! For example, what is going on here? Am I putting my life on the line? Again? Sheesh. Must be Thursday.”
“It’s Monday,” the accountant drider shot back. “If you are thinking of forming some kind of ‘dream team’”—Weavelord air-quoted hard—“I’m afraid that is impossible. If we are to proceed, we must follow tournament rules. That means it will be the Terrible Twelfth in one dungeon, and Wintersylver Gracefreeze in another.”
Lolozi Webbs left her webs and her desk and stood towering over them. “Let’s say we hypothetically decide to go forward with this plan, how can we ensure that Lou Shador will only go after the Terrible Twelfth? What if he decides to take out Wintersylver first?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Wintersylver said a little too quickly. She then tried to save the situation. “Even though I’m only a single dungeon core, I’m a high-ranked B-Class with three knots around my core. Other than Chadrigoth Nobleblade, I am the most accomplished dungeon core in the entire university system. Although it might be a challenge, I am confident that I can kill Lou Shador if it comes to it.”
“Without help,” Rockheart growled. “This isn’t just a tournament, this is survival of the fittest. Are you fit to survive, dragon?”
“Wyvern,” the White Wyrm sniffed. “I’m not going to let a half-naked dungeoneer in a cape kill me.”
Logan recalled the images of the caped figure cracking those dungeon cores. There was something strangely familiar about him, but no, it couldn’t be. He was just some weird dungeoneer—the multiverse was full of them. All possible worlds generated all possible crazy.
Logan approached the wyvern. “I don’t want Wintersylver to fight this guy. She can find her own bloodthirsty raider to lure in. Lou Shador belongs to me. To us,” he amended, sweeping an arm out to include his friends. “We’re going to call him out and get him to come right to us.” He smiled. A plan was already forming in his head, and it was awesome, especially since Marko was so into conspiracy theories.
Weavelord seemed to get a bit nervous. “Mr. Murray, you look quite mad. As in loopy. If we continue the tournament, following tournament rules as they are, we won’t know your location until the last minute. How will we relay that information to him?”
“Oh, he’ll know,” Logan said. “He’ll know.”
Although they had no concrete evidence, Logan still suspected Wintersylver was the rat, but even if she wasn’t, he had a way of getting the Scarlet Paradox their location.
Most everyone in the classroom was standing. Not Treacle, whose cheek bulged from the jawbreaker while he obsessively crocheted.
And not Marko, was still sat slouched in his desk. The goat man raised a hand. “Question. Why am I risking my life when all of this is a simulation? We’re in a dungeon, inside of a dungeon, inside of an Aldaleeran warehouse, where the Spore Lords are running possible scenarios on how to infect the Tree of Souls with their fungi.”
Everyone promptly ignored him.
Logan had to admit that Inga was right. They had to find take care of the Blue Divine Filter side effects. He really was getting out of hand.
Shadowcroft shuffled over to Logan and draped a gangly, bark covered arm around his shoulder. The headmaster was still significantly taller than Logan, but he was no longer the giant he’d once been. It was a reminder of just how far Logan had come. “Once again, you impress me with your courage, Mr. Murray. You are alive and doing wonderful things.” He turned to Marko. “I know your heart, Mr. Laskarelis, and you wouldn’t miss a chance to work with your friend to destroy a great evil. Ms. Therian is the same. What about you, Mr. Glimmerhappy? You have said little.”
The minotaur spit his jawbreaker into a crotched jawbreaker holder. A pensive look flashed across his bovine face as thought. Finally, he nodded and recited a poem. “My Terrible Twelfth. My family of violence. Far closer than friends.”
“Badass,” Marko whispered. “My Family of Violence. Band name. Album title. Title track. I can smell the awards. They smell like Petula Cloudsweat’s farts. Which smell like victory.”
Shadowcroft grinned. “I see your Runeic Haiku class is paying off. You’ll need those runes, for you will be going up against an appointment that will test you in every way possible. This will be the ultimate test of your abilities.”
Rockheart strode forward and put a hand on Logan. “He is ready. And if he isn’t—if he is a big disappointment to me and the school—we still had this shining moment where he and his weirdo friends have earned my respect. That is something. And I still have hopes for Chadrigoth… once he comes out of his ascension cocoon.”
Professor Suresh waved his emery board. “Yes, yes, yes, we are all impressed with the Terrible Twelfth. Ad nauseum. I am literally nauseated with all this talk. Might I say that if Logan, for some reason, can’t compete, any one of the Ninth Circle cores could take his place and win the tournament easily.”
No offense to anyone in the Ninth Circle, but it wasn’t true.
No one said anything.
Suresh returned to sharpening his nails.
“Wait. This has not been decided.” Lolozi Webbs marched forward. “We have not agreed to this. I can’t risk Wintersylver—”
The White Wyrm woman expanded, filling half the room. “I want to compete, headmistress. And I trust that Logan will be able to draw Lou Shador to his node. If not, I’ve longed for a worthy opponent. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I’ve spent my whole career playing games with incompetent dunderheads. I want this test. And if I fail?” She shrugged her scaly shoulders, which brought dust down from the ceiling, “Then I will rejoin the Tree of Souls anyway. Then I will have Logan Murray and the Terrible Twelfth there to protect me.”
Her eyes met Logan. There was ice there far colder than either Hoarfrost Gaze Glaze or her avalanche golems
Wintersylver was an arctic tundra, both inside and out.
Logan grinned. “I think its settled. The tournament goes on. And I have a plan.”
“Ooh!” Marko stomped his hooves in excitement. “I love it when my little fungal buddy has plans!”
Logan was glad his goatish friend was excited. Because he was going to need Marko’s help to orchestrate the massive misinformation campaign he had in mind. It was going to be all lies, all the time.
Most of the time, propaganda destroyed worlds. This time, propaganda was going to save them.
