Thiefquest

Everybody's a villian in this high-fantasy novella.

 

 

 

 

 

Marmot was one unhappy dwarf. 

Somewhere amid these caverns was a fabulous pile of treasure deep enough to drown an army, and he could not get to it. The thought of so much wealth, so near, yet impossible to reach, drove him mad with frustration. He sank to his haunches and chucked a rock at the floor in front of him. As it had in previous attempts, the rock vanished, only to be followed seconds later by a distant splash from somewhere far below. For the past several minutes he had been testing the floor with rocks, finding that, from wall-to-wall, it wasn’t solid again for roughly forty paces down the corridor. The entire length of the illusionary floor, the walls had been carved sheer the, so he could not get across by clinging to them. Their smoothness was in fact what had tipped him off that something was amiss.

His original plan had been to stroll in, mangle the gnomes, and claim the treasure as his own. Now that he’d discovered that these gnomes used magic, the matter was more complicated. It meant that Marmot would have to give up a portion of the loot to hire a partner who knew magic. He hated that thought. Especially since there was no question as to whom this partner would be. Marmot knew of only one magic-user as unscrupulous as himself, whom he could intimidate, and who was not likely to be doing anything more prosperous. 

The thought of that alliance made him shiver with disgust.

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

Dukrook scowled and pretended to be disappointed as the drunken sailor laughed and scooped up the money from the cobbled walkway.

“I thart ye says dice was yer game, merchant. I know parlor wenches wot throws better’n you.”

Trying to sound desperate, Dukrook replied, “Dice is my game, sea-dog, give me a chance to win back my coin and you’ll see.”

“Oh aye, merchant, aye! I beg of ye, throw again… three silver this time.”

“Three silver, fine with me.” Dukrook was trying to sound like he was trying to sound confident. He threw the dice, which were actually blank cubes, and cast the illusion of three marks on one, and four on the other.

“Aha! Seven! I told you!” Dukrook snatched the silver coins.

“Ar, ye won three back, merchant. Yer luck’s a-shiftin’. Would ye be liken to try fer doubles?”

“Most definitely,” said Dukrook, smiling and thinking how easy the sailor was, “If I lose, I’ll pay you double what I owe you. If I win… I owe you nothing.”

The sailor nodded with a wolfish glimmer in his bloodshot eyes.

Dukrook blew on the fake dice as he shook them – then threw – casting the illusion of two fours.

“An eight, merchant, I hopes it be yer lucky number.”

“It is.” Said Dukrook, shaking the dice for his next throw. The sailor’s smile faded when he saw the net illusion: a six and a two.

“Ah, sweet eight!” laughed Dukrook, “It appears that you and I are now even, sea-dog.”

“Ar, it’d seem so. Yet yer luck’ll not hold, says I. Ye’ve thrown so poorly that I’d be sure’n ye wouldn’t have a third winner in a row.”

“One-hundred coins of silver says I do.” Said Dukrook, shaking the dice.

“Ye’re mad, merchant,” said the sailor, eyeing the wizard apprehensively, “I’ll go twenty.”

Bah. Come now, you told me you were a gambling man.”

“I am.” Said the sullen sailor.

“Yet you balk, as a woman would at the sight of a drop of blood.”

“Shut yer mouth, merchant! I’m no woman.”

“Then go eighty, at least.”

“I’ll go fifty, and not a chip more.”

A third voice said, “I’ve got another fifty to say the merchant wins.”

The sailor sneered but Dukrook paled when the two men turned and beheld the speaker.

“Begone, dwarf. This be none of yer affair.”

“Hmphh. Ar-right, then. I’ll leave… but not before I warn ye.”

“Warn me a wot, imp?”

Dukrook felt his stomach fluttering as Marmot fixed a withering stare on him. Their first meeting had been very similar to this, but with the dwarf in the role the sailor now played. Marmot had broken his nose that day, and ever since, the wizard had been plagued by the nick-name, ‘Du-crooked nose’. If the dwarf’s intentions here were further vengeance, Dukrook may get worse from the sailor.

“I’ve seen ‘im do this a dozen times.” Said Marmot, watching the greasy, thin and balding man squirm.

“Do wot?”

“Do what? Have an incredible chain of good luck right when it seems he’s about to lose everything. That’s what.”

Relieved, Dukrook sagged slightly. The sailor squinted one eye and fixed him with a measuring gaze.

“Methinks ye be right, dwarf. Anyhow, we’re even now, and I’ll not risk the last of me purse t’see.” Without another word, the sailor turned and walked away.

“Damn you, dwarf, he was hooked.”

“So he was, wizard, and believe you me, I am fraught with guilt over the whole affair. By your leave, I’d like to offer you a chance to repay the loss a thousand-fold.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Dukrook, suspiciously.

“A business proposition.”

“Which is?”

“Not here,” said Marmot, eyeing the crowded street around them, “inside.”

The two thieves entered the nearby tavern and chose a table tucked away into a dark, private corner. After ordering a meal and a flagon of mead from the hefty barmaid, Marmot began.

“Two days ago, I was traveling southwest from Courtland’s bowl and was approaching the Halberd mountains when I came across the skeletal remains of a dragon amongst an ancient forest. None of the bones were broken and there were no injuries as could be made by a spear of a sword, plus the monster was bigger than any dragon I’d ever heard of, which leads me to believe it had died of old age.”

“Oh, please. Who ever heard of a dragon dying of old age?” Dukrook sneered.

“Hold your tongue and let me finish!” snapped Marmot. “As I was pondering the remains I was approached by a dryad who lived in a nearby tree. She asked me to bury the carcass, complaining that it made her forest ugly, and I said I would, if she, in turn, would answer my questions. She agreed to do so, yet now that I thinks about it, she probably asked more questions than I did. She was flippant and flighty, and had an attention span of all of about two seconds – she constantly began singing these stupid, joyous songs in the middle of a sentence, and she was far too inquisitive for my taste. Gods how I hate wood-spirits! Anyhow, I did manage to learn a few things. The dragon’s lair was somewhere amid the nearest peak, and for as long as she could remember, hundreds and hundreds of years mind you, the dragon would leave once each new moon, and return the same night with it’s claws full of bright things that glittered and shone in the moonlight. She said that about a year ago, she heard the dragon coughing and wheezing as it flew overhead in search of more treasure. And when it returned, it wobbled through the air all crazy-like, then crashed right near her tree and died. The first thing I asked was if he was carrying any of the shiny things and she said yes. She described golden coins, and fine jewelry, and shining weapons, and what I assumed was a rich crown of gold and rubies. When I asked what had happened to the shiny things, she told me that the ‘little men’ took them. I questioned her closely on that, and I am convinced that she was speaking of three gnomes.”

“Gnomes?” Asked Dukrook, dismayed.

“Yep, three nasty, vile, underhanded, trap-building, skulking gnomes.”

“Damn.”

“My words, exactly.”

“So, Marmot is afraid of these little men, and he seeks the help of a great sorcerer to combat them.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, charlatan, it would take a legion of gnomes fer me to thinks twice about splitting the treasure. I left the dryad whining about the unburied dragon, and spent the day in search of its lair. I was planning on making short work of the gnomes, but unfortunately, when I found the entrance, it was protected by magic.”

“Magic, you say?” asked Dukrook doubtfully, “of what sort?”

“I found a long pit concealed by an illusionary floor. I’d’ve fallen in if I hadn’t seen the walls carved sheer.”

“I see.” Dukrook became thoughtfully quiet for a moment, calculating the difficulty of such an illusion. A moment later he spoke, “I really cannot judge their mystical prowess based on one illusion, yet they are gnomes. Gnomes are intelligent yet unfocused, I do not think they would be disciplined enough to learn anything more sophisticated than an illusionary floor. But one cannot tell. A dragon’s hoard is incentive enough for any race to want to acquire the magical skills needed to properly protect it. Still, though, half of the treasure would indeed be worth testing my theory.”

“Half! You are insane! I discovered the treasure, only I can lead you to it, and only I know how to navigate caverns, and if you don’t like it, I can just as easily lop off your head and find another mage. All I’ll need from you is warning of whatever mysticism there might be, and if necessary, to quell it. I think one-quarter would be well worth that small task.”

“You are right, of course,” said Dukrook, forming the vague outlines of treachery, “one quarter of a dragon’s hoard would most likely be more that I could spend in ten lifetimes.”

“Rightly said, wizard. I’m very pleased that you agree so willingly.” Said Marmot, forming the vague outlines of suspicion.

Their two wills clashed between their eyes and they stared each other down for long moments, unspeaking, yet making it perfectly clear that they each held dangerous intentions. Neither thief backed down, neither thief showed an inkling of fear, and neither thief looked away until the rotund barmaid slapped down the food and drink. The moment thawed. Marmot handed her a few copper coins and began to eat.

Dukrook watched the dwarf, peering slyly over his mug. Marmot seemed to take no notice, yet keenly felt the greasy sorcerer eyeballing him. He was unconcerned. After all, his axe was swifter than any of the dirty little man’s spells. At length, Dukrook placed his mug back on the table.

“May I make a suggestion?”

“What?” Marmot said suspiciously, looking up from his food.

“Well, it seems to me that your talents are battle, and a good knowledge of the places below the earth’s surface. My talents are mysticism, and a keen observant eye. Perhaps we should try to recruit a professional thief – one who is nimble, discreet, and able to sniff out and disarm even the cleverest of traps.”

“You sound as if you already know of such a man.”

“I do.”

“Well I don’t like your idea, Dukrook. I’ll not split my share further, and I don’t need another backstabber skulking around behind me.”

Dukrook laughed wolfishly. The distrust was spoken. “I can assure you that this man has no love for me, you need not fear a conspiracy. As for backstabbing, there is that, but he is a halfling, I’m sure you do not fear halflings. And as for payment… well, neither do I wish to split my share. I say we offer him a salary of two-hundred gold, and pay one-hundred each. He’ll eagerly accept that.”

“Why do you persist in thinking we’ll even need him, wizard? I will instantly know if anything is amiss within the caverns.”

“And what will you do when you do find a trap, Marmot? Disarm it with your stubby little dwarven fingers? Or perhaps bash it with your axe?”

Marmot chewed his food deliberately, letting some dribble down his beard while he fixed the wizard with an icy stare. The dwarf simply hated it when he was wrong.

“Bah! Do as you will wizard. If you are indeed so frightened of the mechanisms of three puny gnomes, then we will hire this so-called ‘professional thief’. But I warn you, if he haggles about the pay, I’ll knock ‘im on the head and be done with it.”

Again Dukrook laughed. “Let’s be honest, shall we dwarf? I think we both know that the halfling dies as soon as we set eyes on the treasure. I say we promise him half, if that is what it will take to acquire his services.”

And this time, the dwarf and wizard laughed together. Thieving was such wonderfully intricate business.

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

Orrin scanned the crowd in the square for a ripe victim. The trading was heavy today, and the market was about as packed as it could possibly get. Tempers were short as people pushed and shouted over each other, trying to get the best bargains before the other guy could.  In a word, the place was ‘hectic’.

“Good for business.” Whispered the halfling as he spotted a red-faced fat man, dressed in fineries and trying to push his way through the mob.

With feet lightened by experience in such things, Orrin cut a direct route, darting between the legs of the tall humans, without resistance. He positioned himself just outside of the man’s path and waited. Soon the juggernaut burst through the throng, brushing past a small body without seeing him, and Orrin was away with his heavy purse.

He chuckled to himself as he cut down a side-alley, darted down another street, then slipped through a small hole in a wall that led to yet another alley. His elaborate escape route was more routine than necessary. He was sure that no one was pursuing him, but it was not in his nature to take any chances with his own safety.

His circuitous path eventually led him into the sewers, through a maze of tunnels, and into the wide drainage-chamber that he had made his home. He cursed himself when he saw the lit candle. “Confound it! How could I have been so careless as to le…”

“Welcome home, halfling. I’ve been waiting for ye.”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Orrin turned with a frightened squawk. A sturdy, grizzled dwarf stepped out of the shadows and glowered at him.

Orrin bolted.

A small conduit had once supplied the room with sewage, yet now served the halfling as an escape route through which only he could pass. He scurried towards it with his tiny heart beating faster than a frightened rat.

A tall dark figure with long outstretched arms materialized out of thin air in front of the getaway pipe. Orrin screamed and wheeled again. The dwarf was advancing slowly with bared teeth and brandishing a war axe. Orrin howled and sunk to his knees with his arms wrapped tightly about his head. His worst nightmare had just come true – he was trapped in his own home.

He frightened eyes darted between from the snarling dwarf to the menacing shadow… then recognition sparked a flaring rage.

“Damn you Dukrook!” shouted the halfling, forgetting his fear and springing to his feet. “What in blazes is the meaning of this?”

Dukrook, lowering his arms, laughed and said, “Tut-tut, Orrin. That’s no way to talk to the man who’s going to make you wealthy beyond your most greedy fantasies.”

“Don’t even start your pack of lies, wizard! I don’t want to hear it! I’ll not be suckered by you again!”

“Please, Orrin, you injure me. Are you, perhaps, too prosperous to hear what I have to say?” Dukrook pointed to the purse still clutched in the halfling’s white knuckles.

Orrin sniffed and strutted towards the miniature wooden table. “Had I naught but a single copper, I would still be too prosperous to hear your lying tongue.”

Marmot laughed and stepped forward, slinging his axe through the loop in his belt. “You were right, wizard, he has no love for thee. I think I like this one. Listen to me, rat. Would you hear a proposition from a dwarf of unblemished honor?”

The halfling rolled his eyes. “Unblemished? Not bloody likely. No man of honor would be in league with ‘Du-crooked nose’ here.”

“Not even he who made his nose that way?”

Orrin glanced at Marmot suspiciously. “Truth be told, I would hear the words of a stranger before those of the likes of him. Even if it be a dwarf.”

“Rightly so, halfling. Yet the wizard spoke the truth when he said you shall be rich. We shall all three be rich as kings.”

“How so?”

“There is a treasure. A vast, glittering treasure of incalculable wealth, just waiting to be claimed by those with the right talents.”

Orrin sat at his table and broke a piece of bread. He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, watching the dwarf, obviously wondering if he was being scammed in some way. Finally he swallowed a chunk and said, “Okay dwarf, I’m interested so far. Tell me more.”

Marmot chuckled and began to tell his entire tale, stressing the need for the wizard’s talents. The story took only a few minutes, but Orrin sat there the whole, eyeing the sorcerer with open distrust.

“In truth, halfling, I like the scoundrel even less than thee, but his skills are required just as much as yours and mine. From what the dryad told me, the dragon has hoarded more treasure then we and all of our descendants could spend for generations to come. It is worth splitting three ways.”

“Three ways?” Orrin asked, anxiously.

“Yes, three ways. We shall all have an equal share since all of our skills shall be taxed equally.”

“I find it hard to believe that a dwarf could bear to part with so many gems and gold. How do I know that you won’t slit my throat as soon as my services are no longer required?”

“You’re a clever one, Orrin, I’ll give ye that. But I’m no fool either. I’m not so greedy that I’ll rather die then part with the excess. I want it so badly that I’ll do anything – yes, even split it. You seem to know dwarves quite well, halfling, you must also know that a dwarf always keeps to his word.”

“From my experiences, yes.” Said Orrin, apprehensively.

“Then you have my word, on my honor as a dwarf, that no harm shall come to thee as long as there is breath enough in my body to wield an axe.”

From the corner of the room, beyond the halfling’s vision, Dukrook’s rotted teeth beamed wickedly while Orrin considered the dwarf’s promise. The halfling then smiled, suddenly realizing how dangerous all those traps would be to the poor wizard and dwarf.

“Traps and treasure, eh? I’m in. And I say we embark on our noble quest this very nightfall.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

The three thieves spent the remainder of the afternoon compiling all the gear they would need on their journey. They purchased it all with Orrin’s new purse. By the time they were done, the halfling had only five silver coins left to his name.

“This had damn well best be worth it!” he complained, as they stood in the smithy where much of their gear had been purchased.

“Oh, it shall be, halfling, it shall.” Replied Dukrook. “By the time we return to this town, you’ll laugh at the piffling amount of money you’ve spent here today.”

The youth who was busy shodding their pony listened intently to their conversation.

“Piffling?” the halfling hissed, “and I suppose it’ll only be a piffling amount of danger that we’ll face in the meantime.”

“Well now, I can see that your mug is half empy. Thankfully we’re relying on your skill with traps and not your ‘piffling’ amount of courage.”

“Oh, you’re the one to talk, wizard, what about the time…”

“Shut yer damn mouths!” growled Marmot, glaring at them. Slowly he turned and fixed his attention on the nervous young man, hammering away at the pony’s hoof. Realization struck the other two thieves as their gazes followed. Marmot sauntered up to the lad.

“Tell me something, boy, have you been listening to my friends talk?”

“No milord.” Said the young man, not looking away from his work.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Whot’d you hear?”

“I told you. I heard nothing. Save the pounding of my hammer.” He still did not face the insistent dwarf.

“What’s yer name, boy?”

“Lance milord.”

“’Lance milord’? Well let me tell you something, ‘Lance milord’, you’re not a very good liar.” Marmot grasped the youth’s thick wrist, stopping the hammer in mid-swing. “This is the last time I’m gonna ask ye,” the dwarf said dangerously, “what’d you hear?”

Lance stared at the pony’s hoof for long seconds, biting his lip. Dukrook and Orrin came up to his flanks and stood threateningly. Finally the youth’s head snapped around and his eyes locked boldly on Marmot’s. “I heard talk of riches, and danger, and traps, and wizards, and a journey.”

“Really,” Marmot chuckled, “and what do you think this means, ‘Lance milord’?”

The boy blinked a few more times. A twitch in his cheek made it obvious that trying desperately to stand up to the aggressive dwarf. “I… I’m… assuming it means that you three are off on a daring quest, in search of fame and treasure.”

Marmot’s eyes narrowed to thin, dangerous slits. “That is what you assume, eh? And who’re ye gonna tell, hmmm?”

The youth blinked and smiled nervously. “Only Lord Hartman, once we’ve all returned and I ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The three thieves instantly burst into riotous laughter. Marmot released the boy’s wrist so that he could hold his quaking stomach. His head rolled back as his laughter bellowed louder.

“I’m serious! Stop laughing, please! I wish to join you! I have my own sword and armor that I’ve made with my own two hands, and I know how to use them! I’m in love with the Lady Gennifer and… please stop laughing! I simply must win her hand in marriage!”

The boy’s desperate pleas were falling on deaf ears – the thieves could barely hear him over their own uproarious laughter. Each statement the boy made caused another rude outburst.

“Listen to me! I am not afraid! If you are marching forth to combat danger an evil, you could use another warrior on your side!”

“Warrior!” Marmot laughed again, then made a heroic urge to stifle his mirth. “Listen to me, ‘Lance milord’,” he snorted and wiped a tear from his eye, “If you wish to continue living, the safest thing ye could do would be to forget ye ever saw us.”

“But you see I…”

“I mean it!” snapped Marmot, suddenly serious again. “If we return and find that a single soul has caught wind of our business, I will hunt you down and personally slit you from throat to groin! Do you understand me boy?”

The youth’s countenance collapsed and his gaze fell on the ground, “Yes milord.”

Suddenly Orrin stopped laughing. His brow knitted and he concentrated on the boy for a long moment.

“Wise decision, boy,” Marmot was saying, “Don’t think I won’t be making inquiries into you. In fact, that’ll be my first order of business when I return. And if I find…”

“Um, Marmot?” Orrin interrupted.

“What?” He spat, glaring at the halfling.

“I think you and I should have a quick word before you continue – it’s important.”

Marmot growled and rudely dragged the halfling by the arm to the corner of the stable. Dukrook stayed with the boy, his greasy smile beaming at him over his folded arms.

“What is it rat? And speak quickly. We’ve got a serious breech of secrecy going on here!”

“Yes, well, has it occurred to you that, short of killing him here an now, the best way of ensuring his silence would be to bring him along.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Marmot sneered.

“No, think of it. The youth deserves a chance to prove his worth to the world and win the hand of his one, true love, and I say we give it to him.”

“What nonsense is this? I can’t believe you pulled me away to suggest such a thing! Of what possible use could he be to us?”

“Well, he would perhaps be useful as our very own, professional ‘trap-tester’.”

Enlightenment flooded into Marmot’s eyes. “Aha. I see what you’re saying… professional ‘trap-fodder’, you mean.”

“Precisely.”

Marmot smiled grimly, then wheeled and stalked back up to the boy.

“Ahem. Young man… I, uh…” Marmot shrugged, “I must apologize for my harsh words. Apparently the need for secrecy had temporarily clouded my judgement and… thanks to the halfling here, I now realize that we do indeed have a need for another warrior.”

“Really?” The boy looked back up with hopeful eyes.

“Yes, really. If you are not too sore with me, I would like to invite you to join our quest.”

Dukrook’s jaw dropped. He was about to protest when Orrin elbowed him in the thigh. Looking down and seeing the twinkle in the halfling’s eye, Dukrook, against his better judgement, kept silent.

“It would be a great honor, sir,” the boy said proudly, “and I promise you that you shall not be sorry. My uncle has been teaching me the art of swordsmanship since I was a young boy, and he was once a cavalry…”

“Yes, well, whatever. I’m sure you will not disappoint us. Just meet us here at nightfall, and breathe not a word to anyone, not even your uncle, do you understand?”

“Absolutely, milord.”

“Swear to me.”

“I swear, on my honor as a warrior, that none shall know of our quest.”

“Good.”

“Sir, if I may… what is our quest?”

“I’ll tell you tonight. It’s best not to reveal too much to you before we leave the village, for your own good, of course.”

“Yes, of course. I understand perfectly.”

“Good. We will leave our gear here and you will keep it safe, and have it packed and ready for travel by the time we return.”

“Yes sir.”

“Ar-right.” Marmot nodded. The boy was naïve and idealistic, Marmot was sure that he would not betray his new comrades-in-arms, even if he were to be tortured.

“Come along, my rats.” He said as he turned.

Orrin followed without hesitation, yet Dukrook, still shocked, paused to examine the boy a moment longer. Then he shrugged as he turned to leave. He mumbled to himself, “Whatever Marmot has in mind for the boy, I’m sure it will be morbidly fascinating.”

 

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

At twilight, when the thieves returned to the smithy, Lance was ready. The gear was smartly secured to the pony, the pony was shod, well-fed, and rested, and Lance was armed to the teeth. He stood with his hands on his hips, feet spread apart, and wearing proudly the long coat of ringed mail lovingly and meticulously crafted by his own hand in his spare time. Also attributed to his skill were a conical helmet, a few of daggers in his belt, and on his left hip, a finely-wrought long-sword, honed and tempered to a quality that was above and beyond what was necessary. The thieves, however, took little notice.

Marmot merely glanced at him, then carefully began scrutinizing the condition of the pony and it’s gear. Lance was undaunted, however, he assumed that a mighty adventurer such as the dwarf was used to being in the company of armored men. Dukrook, at least, gave the boy a wide, knowing grin.

The dwarf completed his examination and immediately turned to leave, grunting over his shoulder for the others to follow. First came Orrin, then Lance, leading the pony, and finally Dukrook, with twinkling eyes, still smiling at the boy’s back.

They left town by way of a darkened side-road, walking at a pace that was swift, but not so swift as to be rapidly tiring. Their exit went entirely unnoticed. Once outside of the village, they turned and headed west towards the vast farm-holdings of Lord Hartman – the very man who was the father of Lady Gennifer, Lance’s intended. Beyond these lands they would have to travel many leagues through thick, wooded country, before finally reaching the distant peaks of the Halberd mountains. Lance felt a rush of excitement as he contemplated the sights he would soon experience. He waited until they were several miles out of town and in no danger of being overheard. Only then could he muster the courage to ask about the quest.

Catching up to the dark, stocky silhouette of their leader, he asked, “Excuse me, sir dwarf, but I was just wondering…”

Marmot cut him off with a deep belly laugh. “Ye don’t even know our names yet, do ye?”

“Uh, no sir.”

“You’ll have to get used to that sort of thing, we’re not the gentlest of characters, or maybe you haven’t noticed. Name’s ‘Marmot’, ‘SIR Marmot’. The halfling is ‘Sir Orrin’, and the tall skinny one is our mage, call him, ah… call him ‘Sir Stench’. That’s his name.”

“Sir Stench?”

“Yup. ‘Sir Stench’. Next time ye talk to him, make sure you call him that – a lot. He loves the sound of his name.”

“As you wish, Sir Marmot, but what I was wondering was…”

“You want to know about the quest?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hmmm…” Marmot thought for a moment. The boy wasn’t serving them any major function so he really didn’t need to know. Plus, the dwarf didn’t like sharing information with anyone for any reason. On the other hand, when the moment came for Lance to fulfill his usefulness, Marmot would need faithful and blind obedience. It would also be a hassle trying to hide the truth from the boy throughout the journey – especially whenever he and the other two needed to draw up plans. Thinking of Orrin and Dukrook, it suddenly occurred to Marmot that he would get nothing but grief from them when it would come time to set up camp or build a fire. Being thieves, all three of them disliked menial labor, yet Lance was young, strong, and eager. The potential for exploitation was enormous. Also, if dissention were to split the group, Marmot would want the second ablest body on his side, and not against him. It was obvious that Marmot needed to trick the boy into trusting him, and only him.

“Come a little closer, son.” Marmot put a hand on Lance’s elbow, drawing him near. “I don’t want the others hearing what all I have to say. It’s basically like this: ye see, there’s this dragon’s treasure, and in this dragon’s treasure is this crown, a magic crown… the crown of the Emperor hisself. Now, the other two, being not completely wholesome fellows, they thinks we’re just going to take the treasure and keep it all for ourselves. Now, we are gonna split the leftovers so they don’t need to know this, but I can tell yer a lad of honor so I’m gonna trust you with the whole truth. The Emperor hisself has asked me to get his crown back, and if I do, he’s gonna give me a ‘license to crenellate’. See, I run a shelter for orphaned dwarven children but we’re always being robbed by thieves and scoundrels. So I’m gonna build a castle with my share and take in orphans from all over the land so’s I can feed them, and clothe, and eddy-cate them, but mostly to protect them. I can’t build a castle without the Emperor’s permission, so I’ve just got to get that crown back – for the children. I’m afraid that the other two’ll want it for themselves, so I’m gonna need your help, Lance. Can I count on you, Lad?”

“I swear to you, Sir Marmot, on my honor as a warrior, that I will lay down my life, if needs be, to help you accomplish your noble quest.”

“Good. Did I mention the Emperor also promised to grant me a title if I succeed? I’m sure that if you were with me, we could get one fer you, too.”

“Truly?”

“Most definitely. The Emperor wants that crown back in the worst way. See, it’s a crown of wisdom and wise leadership. Think of it, lad, you’d be returning to your lady as a famed hero, with wealth and a title. What young noble-woman could resist you – or a noble-woman’s father for that matter?”

“Sir Marmot… I don’t know how to say this… but all of my loftiest dreams are within my grasp, and I owe it all to you.”

“Think nothing of it, lad, it won’t be as easy as it sounds.”

“You’re right. How do you intend to fight the dragon?”

“Pshaw. The dragon’s already dead. Three dirty little gnomes have taken over his treasure hoard and rigged the caverns with magical traps. That’s what we have to deal with.”

“Well, I suppose that’s better than fighting a dragon.”

“It is. But that’s also why I’ve had to throw in with these two shady characters. Orrin’s a trap expert and Duk… ah, I mean, ‘Sir Stench’ is a mage. We’ll need both of their expertise to get to the treasure. Then I’ll need your assistance in dealing with the gnomes.”

“Well you can count on me. But if I may, why didn’t the Emperor just assemble a company of hero’s and experts to help you?”

“Uh, I’m glad you asked that. Ah, that’s actually a very good question. Yer a smart lad, that’s one of the reasons I invited ye to join us, cuz I could tell how smart ye was.”

“Thank-you, Sir Marmot, so why didn’t he?”

“Um, well… because it’s a secret mission. Because nobody knows that it’s the crown that makes him such a wise ruler. And… uh, I’m the only one he could trust to keep that a secret, and I’m trusting you to do the same, lad. No-one must ever know about the crown – especially these two. Who knows but that they might try to ransom it back? They’re greedy enough to not be satisfied with one quarter of a dragon’s hoard.”

“Well, Sir Marmot, then I’d have to say that they might be greedy enough to want our shares, too. I suggest that you and I watch each other’s backs around them.”

“Good thinking, Lance. I half suspect that they might be thieves.”

“You can’t trust a thief, sir.”

“No, Lance, ye can’t at that.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

The three experts examined the illusionary floor at length. 

Lance meanwhile, was left to transfer the gear packed on their pony into satchels and knap-sacks that the adventurers could carry with them through the caverns and its supposed gauntlet of traps. As he worked, Lance hoped the others would take a while to figure out the first trap. After two days of doing all the setting up of camps, wood-gathering, fire-building, cooking, evening guard-standing, and morning camp-breaking, the young man was exhausted. He was hoping for a few minutes of just sitting and resting – and possibly dozing.

His friends explained to him that his duties were a ‘rite-of-passage’ for any young hero on their first quest. It was designed to discourage the weak-willed and weak-hearted from the rigorous life-style of the adventurer, and Lance was determined that the other three would not know how little strength he still had left in him. He finished his work, and as he walked toward his friends loaded down with the bags they would take, he was disappointed to see that the wizard was casting a spell.

Dukrook’s arms gestured dramatically and his voice took on an unnatural ghostly timbre as he chanted the arcane words in the language of mysticism. A golden glow began to emanate from his palms, and he made repeated, wiping motions towards the floor of the rock tunnel before him. The trigger gesture was a thunderous hand-clap, and a brief flash of light spit out of the cavern’s opening.

A moment later, the three men chuckled darkly. Lance stumbled into their midst and saw that they were looking at a forty foot chasm, dotted with stepping stones formed by the tops of many slender coloumns rising out of the pit.

“Well I’ll be,” Marmot said, “them gnome’s are craftier than I thought. I should’ve figgered they’d need some way o’ their own to get in and out.”

Dukrook straightened his sleeves with an air of superiority. “Yes, well, obviously you made a wise choice by recruiting the three of us before you continued.”

The dwarf fixed him with a look of hatred. “Get moving you human piece of garbage.”

Feeling un-appreciated, Dukrook sniffed and moved towards the stepping stones leading across the chasm.

“Pardon me, Sir Stench, but I’ve brought our packs.”

Marmot and Orrin chuckled quietly as Dukrook stiffened, then turned and snatched the smallest of the packs from the young man. He dearly wanted to correct the pathetic fool as to his real name, but Marmot insisted that they all work hard to support the load of lies that he’d fed the boy. Comforting himself with the fact that the other thieves would soon be facing many gruesome dangers, Dukrook moved lightly across the tops of the coloumns. Orrin and Marmot each relieved the young man of another small pack and followed.

Lance was actually relieved. This only left him the three largest bags to carry – he was sure that he’d end up carrying all six. For a moment, he actually began to worry that the adventurers had taken them because they’d sensed his exhaustion. Then he disregarded the notion, and remained grateful that he only had the three.

The tunnel they were in was tall and wide – most likely the very entrance the dragon himself had used. As soon as they reached the far side, they all lit torches and found the second of their obstacles. The flickering light reflected off from mounds of rubble, another hundred paces into the mountain, choking and filling the entire passage. Marmot took one look at it and cursed.

“That’s no natural cave-in. Those damn gnomes must’ve used explosives to seal it off.”

“What’re we gonna do?” Lance asked.

“We’re gonna to find the other way in – the way the gnomes use.”

“Let me just think about this for a moment,” Orrin said, “I’m thinking the gnomes probably come through here, if their entrance was somewhere else on the mountain, they wouldn’t have bothered to leave stepping stones under the illusionary floor. Collapsing the obvious entrance makes sense, so… there must a hidden entrance somewhere between the pit and the rubble.”

Marmot grunted. “Like I said – we’re gonna find the way the gnomes use, and that sounds like a job for you halfling.”

Orrin shot him a dirty look and began closely examining the wall near the chasm. He ran his hands over it, peered at it closely, and moved his hands through the surrounding space, feeling for air currents. Wanting to help, Lance went to the opposite wall and began emulating Orrin. Marmot and the wizard laughed darkly as they settled onto the floor of the tunnel and made themselves comfortable, waiting for the halfling to finish his job.

Orrin checked the entire wall on the right side of the corridor, finding nothing, then moved to the opposite wall, going over the same space that Lance had just examined. Thinking the halfling was just being thorough and double-checking his work, Lance finished his search, and went across the corridor to double-check Orrin’s work. This created another instance of dark amusement for the wizard and dwarf.

Soon Orrin found it – in the center of the wall that Lance had checked. He pressed inwards, and a false panel disguised to look like the tunnel wall, swung away. The halfing nodded in satisfaction, and passed through the opening. Without a word, the other two stood and followed. Lance collected his three heavy satchels of gear, and also passed through the opening. Marmot was waiting for him with a twinkle in his eye.

“Don’t feel bad, lad. Remember… you’re a warrior – and Orrin’s a thief.”

“Thank-you, sir, that means a lot coming from you. I was just trying to make myself useful…”

“That’s fine, lad, whatever. Let’s get a move on now.”

The gnomes had obviously carved the new tunnel sometime after the dragon’s death the previous year. It was narrower, and more regular, just barely man-height. Their suspicion that it was the tunnel the gnomes themselves used was confirmed by the fact that every hundred paces or so, was a wall sconce containing a burning torch. Dukrook examined one, and determined that they were enchanted. His feeling was that they would burn perpetually, and could be lit and extinguished by a voice command. What that command was, they had no way of knowing, but it made them uncomfortable to think that their hidden enemies had left the lights on for them.

Over the next quarter hour, they followed the corridor into the mountain, turning at a few slight angles, then came to a simple wooden door at the end of the hallway. It seemed perfectly plain in every way, except that it’s mirror image was imbedded in the floor at its foot like a reflection. The group handled the potential trap just the way they’d planned. First, Dukrook went fairly near to it, concentrating his senses on detecting any sort of mysticism. He stood still and alone for several minutes, just ‘feeling’ and staring at the door.

Finally he pronounced it spell-free, and Orrin moved in. The halfling cautiously checked the surrounding area for trip-wires, pressure-plates and the like, moving slowly closer to the door itself. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he stood near the door in floor, puzzling over it. The others felt safe enough to join him, and soon all four adventurers crowded around the innocent-looking phenomenon.

“So whatt’dya think?” Marmot asked.

“Well… it’s something.” Orrin replied thoughtfully.

Dukrook snorted derisively.

Ignoring him, the halfling squinted his eyes and cocked his head. “There’re no external mechanisms of any kind, so I can’t say for certain what it does, but obviously, this doorway in the floor serves some purpose. I’m sort of getting the feeling that when you turn the doorknob, the door below drops open and dumps you into a pit – probably something nasty at the bottom. That’s how I’d do it anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Marmot growled.

The halfling looked at him with irritation. “No. There’s no way to be sure.”

“Well then, somebody’s just going to have to try it and see.”

Nobody moved and nobody volunteered. It stayed quiet for a long moment, while each seemed to get irritated that the other wasn’t volunteering. Marmot had just begun to concoct a plausible reason why Lance should try it when Orrin moved closer to the door in the wall, straddling the door in the floor. He peered at it intently, studying the very pattern of the grain.

“Yeah, that’s probably it…” he mumbled, mostly to himself, “turn the handle, release a counterweight in the jamb, knocks out a pin holding the trap door shut… that’s gotta be it.”

“Just turn the knob and be done with it!” Marmot snapped, getting impatient.

Orrin jumped a little at the sound, then shot the dwarf another irritated glance. “Why does it automatically have to be me?’ he whined.

“You’re the thief,” Marmot growled, “If you don’t know what you’re doing, maybe I oughta just leave now and come back with someone who has a little more confidence in their craft.”

“I have confidence in my craft!”

“Then why are you still standing there wetting your pants? Do you know what this thing does or not?”

“It’s not that simple…”

“It’s as simple as turning a door-knob, halfling. If that’s too complex for you, maybe I should ask somebody with a little more brains and guts do it, like Lance.”

“I swear, you are the most belligerent dwarf I’ve ever met.” Even as he spat the protest at Marmot, Orrin reached for the knob. The bullying had finally had its intended effect. His delicate hand turned the brass handle, a short grating sound of metal-on-metal came from the jamb, and the door fell away.

It was not quite what Orrin expected.

The door in the wall was the one that fell, inward and down, rotating into the floor. The door in the floor shot upwards and in, striking the halfling’s rear quarters with enough force to launch him into the room beyond. The door that had been in the floor, had now become the door in the wall, and a new door took its place in the floor. It all happened very quickly. One moment Orrin was turning the knob, and the next moment doors were flipping. The scene now looked exactly as it had seconds ago, except for the fact that the halfling had vanished.

The remaining adventurers just stared at the doorway for a moment.

“Did anybody see what happened?” Marmot asked.

“Yeah…” Dukrook began, doubtfully, “but I’m not sure what I saw.”

“It’s four doors,” Lance gushed, “joined at their bottoms by an axle or something – almost like the water-wheel at the mill.”

“Sooo…. Where did Orrin go?”

“He’s on the other side of the door!” Lance said.

“Probably found the same sort of nasty thing he assumed would be in the pit.” Dukrook stated matter-of-factly.

The three of them stood there unsurely, each of them with a different thread running through their thoughts. Lance was startled by the sudden, awful loss of a companion. Marmot was wondering if they should risk continuing without a thief, or turn back and hire another. Dukrook was simply pleased that his first problem had been solved so quickly. Several long moments later, they heard a small voice on the other side of the door.

“I’m still here, guys, but I hurt all over. And my sleeves are torn from climbing down the spikes.”

“Orrin, ‘zat you? You say you landed on some spikes?”

“No… I crashed into the wall above them. If I was heavier I would have plunged right into them and died. I had to climb down them and I got a couple cuts.”

“Are you okay, Orrin?” Lance asked with genuine concern.

“Well, my tailbone’s really sore from where the door hit me. I hit my head and my shoulder on the wall when I crashed and now they really hurt, and then I had to climb down the wall full of sharp spikes and it hurt my hands and my feet, plus tore up my sleeves and one of them gashed my forarm. It also hurt when I…”

“Quit yer whining!” Marmot yelled. “Get this door open!”

“Oh certainly, Sir Marmot, as you wish, milord!” The sarcastic outburst did little to hide the halfling’s obviously hurt feelings. “It must be very fortunate for you that I fell into the trap, because the mechanisms are on this side of the wall and now I can dismantle it and let you pass through, all safe and sound!”

“I’m looking forward to killing that one.” Marmot grumbled. Then, noticing Lance’s shocked expression, he added, “I’m jesting o’ course.”

It took the halfling ten minutes to remove the bolts and plates that held the two giant watch springs in place on either side of the axle. When they were gone, the coils of metal spun wildly, losing every ounce of their tension. The four doors, cleverly joined perpendicularly to an axle at their bottom edge, now spun freely when the knob was turned. Orrin’s companions could not climb over what Lance had referred to as a ‘water wheel’, so they crawled through the space under the doorway, where they had spun.

The small chamber beyond consisted of a wall of spikes facing the trap, and another corridor leading out of the wall to their left. As they filed out of the room, Orrin watched them with bitterness in his eyes. “Good work, men, two traps down and no casualties so far – unless you count the pathetic halfling.”

The others simply ignored his sarcastic self-pity.

While the revolving door trap had been entirely mechanical, the next trap they encountered was entirely magical. They first came to a solid metallic panel blocking the entire passageway. Dukrook noticed right off that it was heavily enchanted. On closer examination, they found it to be thin and flexible, and were surprised to discover that it slid easily into the ceiling. The odd thing was that; at first, there seemed to be no bottom edge. The metal just kept coming out of the floor, and sliding away into the ceiling. Just when they’d begun to suspect that it was some kind of loop or band that they were cycling around in a circle, the end of it rose out of the floor. When they had pushed it into the ceiling, they were perplexed to see that the floor of the corridor ahead seemed to be covered in ice for the next twenty paces – red ice, which glowed strongly. Again, Dukrook pronounced it to be strongly ensorcelled. In the ceiling, they could see the long strip of metal they’d just slid up out of the doorway running the entire length, then bending down and forming another doorway at the end of the enchanted ice.

It seemed obvious that, at the other end, they’d simply have to cycle the metal again to form an exit. It was Orrin who realized that, in its original configuration, the wide strip of metal would have been in the floor – perhaps under the ice. Then Dukrook realized that it must have separated the ice from something hot and fiery below it, like lava, thus the red glow. They all realized at the same instant that now that the metal was in the ceiling, the ice would be exposed to the heat and quickly melt.

The trap was obviously designed to drop its victims into the lava, as they crossed to the other end and wasted their time cycling the door. Marmot quickly realized a solution: he had them all step out onto the ice, then cycled the wide metal strip back down into the floor behind them. As it slid back into its original configuration, under the ice, the red glow retreated down the corridor. The strip was casting its cooling shadow on the underside of the ice once again. They all breathed deeply once the entire length of the ice had turned a natural bluish-black. The metal no longer blocked the exit, and beyond the ice was normal corridor once more.

As they moved out of the trap, Orrin paused to look down the crevice where the metal band would have slid into the floor on the far side. He chuckled. “Damned ingenious. This goes straight down, not back under the floor. We would have stood here sliding the door until the ice melted.”

 “When we come face to face with the gnomes,” Marmot sneered, “be sure’n tell ‘em how much you admire their handiwork.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

The next few traps were equally clever. There was more of a mixture between malicious sorcery and deadly mechanics. Orrin spied pressure-plates in the floor, disarmed tripwires, and dismantled small death-dealing machines. Dukrook dismissed illusions, avoided spots where enchantments grew thick, and neutralized hostile spells that waited to blast death over the group of thieves. For his part, Marmot was very observant, instantly noticing if something within the rock passageway had been unnecessarily shaped or altered. Despite his nastiness, the dwarf was also a good leader, making smart decisions and thinking quickly when chaos erupted. Lance, their young human warrior, having nothing substantial to do battle against, made himself useful by carrying the bulk of their gear.

He also turned out to be the only member of the group that knew how to use a bow. 

They had encountered a doorway that was rigged to simply explode when the door-latch was depressed. Orrin had absolutely no way to disarm it, being that the latch mechanism, the explosives, and even the hinges were all on the far side of the door. This was one of the simplest traps the gnomes had devised, but also the most effective barrier so far. Marmot led them all back down the corridor a safe distance, and brought out a bow he’d insisted they purchase for just such an occasion. He was smart enough to realize that there would be times when they couldn’t disable a trap. The only solution then was to spring it – from a distance.

Lance strung the bow and began firing at the door-latch. He hit it squarely after only fifteen or sixteen tries. A shockwave sent heat and splinters flying the length of the corridor, but none of the adventurers was harmed in the least. When it was over, Orrin uncovered his head with an excited gleam in his eye. “I adore it when things explode.”

Marmot snorted. “Again, friend halfling, tell it to the gnomes when we meet up with them. That shouldn’t be too far off now that we’ve gone and blown something up.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

Ironically, they found a note from the gnomes in the midst of the very next trap they encountered. It was written in beautiful, flowing letters on a sheet of parchment that was stuck by a dagger to a wooden pedestal carved to look like a fluted column. Because he was the only literate one in the group, Dukrook read it aloud. “Dear thieves, we feel it sporting to warn you that this is your last chance to turn back. From here on, our machinations become quite deadlier. Take the door to further peril, or take the crown and leave forever. With heartfelt sincerity, Verdimax, Tryle, and Ozmitre.”

   The other three heard and understood the message, but none of them, not even Lance, could tear their gaze from the object atop the pedestal. It was a crown, made of all the richest materials in existence. Forged of precious metals, encrusted with precious jewels, lined with precious fur under precious velvet, the glittering object before them could easily be the most valuable artifact in the world. Lance didn’t even bother to ask Marmot if this was the Emperor’s magical crown they were secretly questing for, it’s complete dignity and beauty spoke for itself.

At that moment, however, the dwarf’s offhanded lie was the farthest thing from his mind. The room they were in was empty except for the pedestal, and a single lit torch burning in a sconce on the wall. More importantly, it had exactly two doors: the simple one they’d just entered, and a thick stone slab, ready to slam down over the opposite exit – presumably when one snatched the crown. His conundrum was obvious. How would he procure the crown, and get to the treasure deeper into the mountain?

Dukrook cleared his throat, getting the group’s attention. “You all realize, of course, that this crown is heavily enchanted.”

“In what way, wizard?” Marmot asked, Lance assumed he was just being sure the others didn’t suspect what the crown truly was or who it belonged to.

“It’s hard to say… but I sense powerful forces waiting to be released. What they are, and how they’re activated – there’s no way to know.”

“I… I suppose…” Lance began timidly, “that when one lifts the crown, the… the stone door over the exit seals down.”

“Thank-you, Sir Obvious,” Orrin said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll check this out.”

The halfling first examined every detail of the pedestal. After inspecting its top, its sides, its base, and even the surrounding floor area, he pronounced it solid. Whatever triggered the door had nothing to do with the pedestal. He then went to the exit and pored over every detail of the opening, outside area, and the slab hanging overhead. “There’s nothing. No mechanisms, no wires, no levers – nothing. It simply seems to be suspended there, like…”

“Magic?” Dukrook asked sarcastically. “I could have told you that.”

“Can you neutralize it, wizard?” Marmot asked.

The smug sorcerer actually seemed embarrassed for a moment. “I’m afraid the only thing I understand about this enchantment is how the slab hovers over the doorway. All I could do is cancel that force and let it drop.”

“Well that’s a fat lot of help. Why I ever decided on enlisting your aid is beyond me. The only one here wot hasn’t disgusted me yet is…” Then Marmot remembered his lie. “Lance.”

“Thank-you, Sir Marmot. I only hope that when the time comes…”

“Think nothing of it, lad. Now listen. It’s all up to you boy. You know we need this crown, right?” Marmot winked.

“Yes, milord.”

“And we need the treasure from the dragon’s hoard. You understand that?”

“Absolutely, milord.”

“Here’s what I’m thinking. The three of us will move beyond the stone slab, and when we’re clear, you take the crown. You know you’re the obvious choice for this task, right?” The dwarf winked again.

“Of course, Sir Marmot. I understand completely. I’ll do what I must, for the sake of our quest.”

“Good.”

“But sir, if I may… what should I do if the door cuts us off?”

“Hmmm… wait here, I s’pose. Until we return with the treasure. I can’t imagine there’s much farther to go.”

“Okay, milord. I am ready.”

“Good lad.” Marmot led the other three past the doorway, where they turned to watch the young man. Lance thought he was imagining it, but it almost seemed as if the halfling and Sir Stench were trying to hide smiles. The notion was ludicrous, however, so he disregarded it and turned his attention to the task at hand.

Nervously, he placed his hands in the air on either side of the crown. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage, then grabbed for it. As soon as his bare skin touched the precious metal gilt-work, a flare of wicked electrical energy burned through the young man’s body. He dropped to the floor amid a dozen twisting tendrils of smoke, and lie still. Neither the crown nor the stone slab had moved.

Marmot sighed. “Forget the crown. Get our gear… and don’t forget to loot the body.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

The three thieves had a serious discussion as they continued through the stone corridor. No mention was made of Lance. The problem at hand was whether or not the gnomes knew they were near. Orrin insisted that it only made sense that they’d heard the explosion, then left the note to entice them to leave. Dukrook’s viewpoint was that the stone slab wasn’t a trap at all. The crown had been the real trap; designed to kill one of them and thin their ranks.

Orrin once again expressed admiration for the gnome’s cunning. “If that’s what they intended then they’ve done a fine job. They’ve killed our packhorse.”

“Yes indeed,” said Dukrook, obviously struggling with his two knapsacks.

“I’m just sorry we’ve lost our trap-fodder.” The dwarf said. “I don’t know how many are still ahead of us, but Lance was a luxury I wouldn’t a minded keeping around a spell.”

“So do you think the gnomes heard the explosion earlier?” Orrin asked.

“How could they not? They know we’re here, no doubt about that, but it did seem like we came up on the note pretty quick-like. Probably a coincidence. I’d say that, after they heard it, they surely got a few little things ready for us, and are now on their way here. We should be expecting them any…”

An insane cackle echoed down the corridor, coming from behind them. They wheeled, and saw a metallic object flashing towards them in the torchlight. Obviously aimed for Dukrook, the sorcerer shielded his face with his arm. The thrown dagger slapped into his dirty, billowing sleeve, then slid harmlessly to the floor.

Lowering his arm, the three thieves stared back at the offending gnome. He was thin and elderly, with a bald patch on top of his head, and a dirty robe that looked much like the very one Dukrook was wearing. Like most gnomes, he was short, and sort of hunched over, with long arms ending in tawny hands. His nose was long and crooked, as were the ears sticking out either side of his head. Adding to the air of insanity was a crazy, wicked grin, and one oversized, wandering eye. When he saw that his attack was thwarted, the willowy creature suddenly realized that he was outnumbered and out-sized. With a little jump, he disappeared back into the secret doorway from which he’d come.

“After ‘im!” Marmot roared.

They instantly gave chase, following him into a more narrow passage. Running at full speed, they turned a single corner and saw a small door slamming shut a little ways ahead. Marmot’s first instinct was to rip the door open and continue his pursuit, but Dukrook, wheezing behind him, yelled for him to halt.

“There’s… there’s…. there’s an enchantment.” He said, stopping next to Marmot and putting his hands on his knobby knees to catch his breath.

Marmot snapped his gaze back to the door and noticed for the first time, a strange rune, painted in black on the center of the door. “What is it?”

“Give me a moment… gotta catch my breath.”

The angry dwarf grabbed his elbow and thrust him towards the door. “There’s no time for that, you dunderhead – ‘e’s getting away.”

The wizard gave him an angry stare, still wheezing and red-faced, but then turned his attention to the rune. “Okay… this part… this part is for the target… I assume that’s us… and this… this is… a… a partial, no, ‘temporary’… temporary device… and it applies to… this other part… an eye… with a hash mark, for sleep… or… or blindness…”

Dukrook suddenly stiffened and gasped.

“What’s it say?”

“Damn it all!”

“What’s yer problem, wizard?”

“I’m blind!”

“What?”

“I’m blind! The rune blinded me!”

“How?”

“Because I read it! It causes temporary blindness!”

“But what of the door, wizard? Can we open the door?”

“I’m blind, damn you! Didn’t you hear me?”

“Quit yer whining and tell us how to get through that door!”

“How?” Dukrook roared, “I’m blind you miserable, thick-headed oaf!”

Marmot walked up and smacked the wizard in the back of the head. Dukrook almost fell forward from the blow. Then he wheeled and held his hands up protectively, blinking stupidly around. Marmot’s rage was not yet satisfied. He stomped on the bridge of the wizard’s foot, and when he doubled over, punched him squarely in the center of his bald spot. The blind wizard fell backwards into the door, then slid to the floor.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, Du-crooked nose, can we open this door?”

Orrin giggled a little. “Well, if there were any mechanical traps, he’d have set them off when he fell into it.”

“Shut-up, halfling! Answer me, wizard!”

“Go, Marmot, go ahead! It’s safe, I tell you. The trap was the rune, and now I’m blind, so just take yourself through the door and catch your precious little gnome.”

Marmot aimed a few kicks at the helpless wizard. Dukrook rolled away from the door, hoping with all of his might that it was rigged. In truth, he had no idea. When he heard it open, and the other two moving through it, Orrin chuckling, Dukrook felt sorely disappointed.

Still pouting, he stood, and felt his way into the room beyond. As soon as he entered, he felt enchantment on all sides. He was about to call out to his companions, but bitterness quelled his tongue. He wouldn’t say a word unless they asked him.

Orrin and Marmot stood still, gawking around the room the room they’d entered. They’d obviously stumbled into the gnome’s armory. The center of the medium-sized chamber held only a small wooden stand with an unlit black candle in a candlestick, but the walls were filled to bursting with racks full of shining weapons. The gnome had obviously ran through the opening in the opposite wall, but Marmot couldn’t bring himself to charge after him. The multitude of lovely weapons was simply too enticing to pass up.

He practically drooled as his eyes caressed the racks. Not only were there pikes, spears, halberds, maces, morningstars, and swords of every size, shape, and variety, but the racks also contained a stimulating array of gleaming armor. Marmot’s heart swooned more deeply with each item he recognized. He mentally named off each piece as it caught his eye.

His reverie was rudely interrupted by an insistent halfling.

“Snap out of it, dwarf, the gnomes already got a great lead on us.”

Marmot irritably snapped his eyes down to Orrin. “Yer not the leader, here, rat, I am! We’ll give chase when I’m ready to give chase. I’m just gonna take this one thing…”

The dwarf moved lovingly towards a long-handled, two-edged battle axe, gilt-worked and encrusted with rubies along it’s shaft. She leaned casually against a rack of long swords, as if waiting for her master to come and claim her. Marmot’s hand curled towards the grip, then passed right through it. At once, all of the weapons flickered and vanished. Alarm and understanding flooded the dwarf’s brain simultaneously. “An illusion! It’s another trap!”

A transparent panel slid shut over the exit. All that remained in the room with the three thieves was the narrow wooden stand. Then, from the ceiling directly over the black candle, the end of an iron tube began to descend. It was carved to look like a dragon’s head, its open mouth reaching for the black wick as if it were going to take a bite of it. Then a small flame ignited in its jaws.

“Dukrook, move the candle before it lights!”

Directly beside the table, the blind sorcerer shrugged. “What candle?”

Marmot charged forward, but he was too late.  The flickering tongue of fire reached the wick, and it ignited, burning a strange purple. Thick, disproportionate clouds of violet smoke began to roll off from the candle and onto the floor. The dwarf shoved the wizard aside, then kicked the wooden stand over. The candle toppled from holder, then rolled across the floor, still lit, and still spewing smoke. Marmot ran after it, then bent down and tried to pinch out the wick with his thick, calloused fingers.

It burned him, and he jerked his hand away. “Damn it!”

He began to stomp on the still burning candle, but even this would not extinguish the enchanted flame. The floor was already covered in smoke, and it was rising. It’s fumes made their eyes and noses burn, and water uncontrollably. It quickly became hard to breathe.

Orrin, being the shortest and closest to the rising gas, was trying desperately to right the little table and climb on top of it. He screamed, “It’s poison, put it out!”

“Shut-up and check the door we came in!”

“I did. Its sealed!”

Dukrook was also choking, beginning to regret not telling the other thieves about the magic in the room.   He sensed something mystical towards the corner, and pointed at it, yelling, “There’s an enchantment right there, dwarf! Right there!”

“It’s the candle you useless dog!” Staring hatefully at the dirty wizard through the rising smoke, Marmot noticed the exit. Behind the glass panel that had slammed shut over it, the peculiar gnome stood pointing at them. He was obviously laughing long and hard over their stupidity, but no sound came through the transparent panel. Marmot snatched his weapon out of the loop in his belt – his plain, single-edged battle axe, and charged towards the glass. When he struck, his whole weapon vibrated painfully in his hands, but the glass was undamaged. The gnome held his gut and laughed harder.

Dukrook pointed at the exit. “There’s an enchantment over here, too!”

Marmot raised his axe, fully intending to cut the wizard down next, when he noticed the iron tube still hanging down from the ceiling. He raced to it, shoving Dukrook out of the way once more, and grabbed hold of the carved head with both of his powerful hands. He checked over his shoulder to see if the gnome was still laughing.

He wasn’t. 

The gnarled creature seemed to stiffen with alarm, then turned and disappeared. The cloud of smoke was nearly up to the dwarf’s armpits as he pushed it towards the far wall with all his strength. The tube bent slightly, and Marmot reversed direction, pulling with all of his strength. It bent slightly easier this time. He pushed again, bending it farther than before – it was weakening rapidly.

Orrin, looking as if he might cry as he balanced tenaciously atop the narrow wooden candle-stand, whimpered “You better know what you’re doing dwarf.”

“Just so you know, rat,” Marmot growled as he struggled with the iron tube, “if this doesn’t work, I’m gonna come over and smash yer little table there. At least I’ll have the satisfaction of seeing you die first.”

Then the tube snapped off. Wasting no time, Marmot ran across the room and swung it viciously at the glass panel. It cracked under the first blow, exciting the dwarf and fueling his next swing. He roared as he heaved the iron tube with all of his strength over his shoulder. More cracks appeared, and the glass panel buckled outwards. Marmot’s third blow totally shattered it. In a flash, he and the halfling were through the doorway, and out of the rising cloud of poison.

Dukrook coughed. “Marmot?… Orrin?”

The carved corridor continued at an angle beyond the glass panel. The two thieves raced down it, following it towards another bend. Marmot sped around the corner first, spied the gnome casting a spell, and dove into the floor. An orange flare of mystical flame blasted over his head, and nearly into the face of the trailing halfling. Orrin froze as the energy burst against the wall just before him.

Marmot growled and leapt back to his feet, brandishing his axe.

With a frightened squeak, the gnome turned and ran once more. Most of his race had the ability to outrun most of Marmot’s race, but the gnome was elderly – and the dwarf was enraged. Marmot knew that it would only be a few moments before his axe would be sinking into the disgusting creature’s flesh.

Then he spied the pit they were approaching. With a cackle, the gnome grabbed a thick rope and swung across. Marmot plodded to a halt at the edge of the chasm. On the far side, the gnome placed the rope over a peg in the wall, and with a last howl of insane laughter, ran down the corridor and disappeared around another corner.

Marmot weighed his options with an angry mind. The gnome hadn’t exactly stranded them on this side – he’d merely taken the quickest route. Stretched between the two edges of the pit was a long cargo net. They could climb across it, but it would be slow and difficult. He didn’t like it, but he also didn’t like letting the cross-eyed, pointy-eared freak get away. Without further hesitation, he climbed out onto the net.

Orrin caught up and started across behind him. “You know, dwarf, I don’t really want to go first here, but it might be wise to let me lead so I can watch for traps. This net isn’t the most harmless-looking thing, you know.”

“You’d take too long.” Marmot sneered. “I want that gnome – I’ll take my chances this once.” As the last syllable left his lips, the segment of rope he had just grasped and put weight on gave out some slack. There was a slight sensation of tension being released, then they were falling.

They screamed as they began to tumble down the chasm to their deaths, but the fall was very short. Inexplicably, the grid of ropes closed around them like a sack, and they were forced rudely into one another’s bodies as the sack cinched shut. They reached the length of some rope fastened above them and jerked to a halt, then slammed into the wall of the chasm. The outermost rope of the cargo net was actually a drawstring, which had now fastened itself shut, dangling them twenty feet over the side of the pit.

Orrin’s face was pressed into the ropes, held there by the thick knee of the upside-down dwarf trapped behind him. He calmly composed an appropriately scathing insult regarding Marmot’s stupid action, but a voice from above spoke first.

“Marmot?” Dukrook asked nervously, “Orrin?… I’m still blind, my friends, where did you go?”

The halfling chuckled despite his anger. “Do you suppose we’ll need his help, or can we just let him walk over the edge?”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

Lance awoke slowly.

His first thought was that he’d better get dressed quickly so that he’d have time to eat before reporting for duty at his uncle’s smithy. Then he realized his was laying a rock floor instead of his own bed. Slowly, his situation seeped back into his consciousness. He was in a cavern, he had touched something shiny, and then everything had gone black.

He sat up, feeling sick and weak. The single lit torch flickered, casting fluttering shadows throughout the room, making him nauseous. Lance briefly considered vomiting, then realized that he wasn’t quite that sick. Looking around through slightly throbbing eyeballs, the young man realized that his fellow adventurers were nowhere to be found. The crown still stood on the pedestal next to him, and the stone slab still hovered over the portal they’d presumably taken.

He couldn’t give a rational reason for it, but their abandonment of him felt an awful lot like betrayal. Then he realized that his sword, daggers, and small purse of coins were missing. He had only a few worthless coins in there, but nonetheless, his companions had taken them – and with an entire dragon’s hoard within reach.

Lance tried to calm himself, telling himself that perhaps they’d assumed he’d been killed. If that were the case, he could give them the benefit of a doubt; the swords of fallen comrades were commonly brought back to their families. The coin was harder to understand, but hopefully they had a good reason for that also. If someone had actually looted him, he was sure it was that cowardly halfling.

He stood and tried to think through his situation. One thing that puzzled him was why Marmot would have simply abandoned the true object of their quest, the Emperor’s crown. He supposed that, having presumably watched it kill their young companion, they were afraid to touch it. Perhaps Marmot had even intended to collect it on his way out. That made more sense. If lifting the crown triggered the door, they wouldn’t want to take it until they were done with their business in caverns. That way they could avoid having to contend with the thick, stone seal.

Studying the crown more closely, Lance had to wonder how the gnomes could have even placed it here, given the jolt he’d experienced when he tried to touch it. Suddenly it occurred to him that he’d grasped the metal of the frame. The crown had a thick fur band, and probably some kind of lining within the velvet – it was insulation. He gathered his courage, and gingerly extended one finger towards the white furred band. He slowly moved it closer, then made contact.

There was no sensation whatsoever, just the feel of rich fur. Feeling slightly heartened, Lance next tried to pick it with his two hands, touching only the band. It came away safely, but as he lifted it, he heard a stone-on-stone grating noise from behind.

He froze, remembering the slab, but suddenly worried that there might also be a secondary trap. The noise stopped as the slab met the floor, and nothing else seemed to happen. Lance looked around, and realized that the trap had done just as the note had promised. Feeling slightly relieved, he examined the crown more closely.

It was truly the most valuable object he’d ever laid eyes on. The mixture of precious metals weighed heavily in his hands, and the clusters of gemstones sparkled in the light of the chamber’s only torch. The band was solidly sewed to a thick layer of padding under the crown’s satin lining, causing Lance to realize that it was safe to wear. Just out of curiousity, the young man tried it on.

As soon as it settled onto his mop of light brown hair, understanding flooded the young man’s consciousness. It was startling, initially, to have so much information forced into his thoughts, but he immediately adjusted to it, allowing enlightenment to dawn in his tender mind. He instantly understood the crown’s purpose, its history, and even its function. More importantly, he knew that it didn’t belong to the current emperor. It was by no means a crown of wisdom and wise leadership – it was the malevolent crown of an ancient warrior-king, lost and forgotten for centuries.

Marmot had lied to him.

With narrow eyes and a set jaw, Lance removed the crown and set it back on the pedestal. From behind, he heard a stone-on-stone grating noise.

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

“What are you, some kind of little girl? Pull, you pathetic weakling!”

Still in darkness, Dukrook strained with the double ropes of the cargo net’s drawstring. The dwarf and the halfling bounced and twisted inside their tight sack, but did not rise. Being upside-down for too long drove Marmot mad with frustration, and he roared a long list of insults at the scrawny wizard.

He pulled with all of his might, his hands burning on the ropes, his frail heart burning in his chest, and sweat running down the back of his already oily robes. Dukrook had never been a physically powerful man, even in his youth, and it frustrated him greatly that the dwarf expected him to haul their two bodies up out of the pit. He honestly suspected that he’d need help if he were only drawing up the empty net – Marmot alone surely weighed as much as a donkey.

“I’ll kill you if ye don’t get me out of this right this very instant, wizard, you hear me? I don’t know why I ever brought such a sad, dirty, pathetic, ignorant, smelly, rotten-toothed, bald, greasy-haired…”

“That’s enough!” Dukrook shouted, dropping the rope. “Even if I could pull you up here, I wouldn’t be able to tolerate another instant of your company. You can stay down there and rot for all I care.”

“You wouldn’t dare leave us, dog!”

The blind wizard laughed. “Oh yes I would, and with great pleasure.”

“You need us as much as we need you, Dukrook – you’ll never get the treasure without us, not to mention getting out of these caverns alive.”

“I’ve officially decided to take my chances.”

Marmot hesitated, concocting a particularly frightening threat, when he saw movement at the top of the opposite edge of the pit. With a chill, he realized that it was the gnome-magic user.

“Dukrook, you stupid cur, cast a spell, NOW!”

The blind wizard was still ignorant of their enemy’s presence. “My apologies, ‘Sir’ Marmot, but I know no spells that will get you out of your current…”

“No, you blithering fool, cast an offensive spell! The gnomes snuck up on us – he’s starting to cast.”

Dukrook was instantly terrified. He began to cast his only offensive spell, ‘Andric’s Arrow’, wondering at the same time how he could ever target the enemy he could not see. He heard the gnome chanting, but its ghostly echo reverberated off the stone walls of the corridor, and there was no way to pinpoint his exact location. He felt trapped, out in the open, an easy target – and horribly, literally blind.

This was the scene when Lance came around the corner from the strange room containing random scraps of purple smoke.

He saw the oily wizard casting another spell, but he seemed clumsy and too nervous. Across a good-sized hole in the floor of the corridor, stood a psychotic-looking gnome, grinning wickedly as he also cast a spell. Thinking quickly, Lance snatched up a fist-sized rock and hurled it towards the unfamiliar sorcerer. Dukrook never even noticed as the rock sailed over his head, across the void, and smacked the gnome directly in the center of his forehead.

The wizened creature immediately crumpled, lying still on the floor of the corridor appearing very much like a pile of rags. Dukrook however, continued casting, looking around wildly with unfocused eyes. Lance ran up to him shouting, “Sir Stench, its okay! You can stop casting! I got him!”

The unexpected voice caused the wizard to jump, the yellow light in his palms flickered and faded – his spell had miscast. He scrambled dangerously close to the pit. “Who…who’s there?”

“It’s me, Sir Stench, it’s Lance.”

The wild look faded from the wizard’s eyes as he realized what had happened. His mouth slowly curled into a wicked grin. Lance was alive. That was good news indeed. Before he could greet their forgotten merchandise, an angry voice bubbled up out of the pit.

“What in hell’s ten blazing pits is going on up there? Are you dead Dukrook? I hope for your sake you are, because if yer not, I’m gonna finish the job when I get out of this blasted thing!”

Lance approached the sorcerer, feeling more confused than ever. “Is that Sir Marmot? Where is he? Who’s he talking to?”

The wizard sighed.

“Sir Stench?…”

“Dukrooooook!” The dwarf roared.

“Who’s ‘Dukrook’?”

“Uh, well…”

“Dukrooooook! I’m gonna kill you!”

“Sir Stench?”

Dukrook shook his head and moved towards the nearest wall. He sat down comfortably, leaning back, and began wiping dirt and sweat off from his bald spot. “You might as well know, but my real name is Dukrook. I don’t in fact know why the dwarf felt it necessary to lie to you, but I grow weary of being called ‘Sir Stench’.”

Lance felt anger rising beside his confusion. “Dukrook?”

The wizard nodded with sarcastic courtesy.

“Sir Dukrook?”

He snorted. “There are no ‘sirs’ here, boy.”

Another enraged roar from the pit turned Lance’s attention. As he was looking in that direction, he noticed the gnome climbing slowly back to his feet. His crazy eyes fixed on Lance’s, blood running down his face between them. After a bizarre moment of just staring at one another, the mage scrambled the rest of his way to his feet, and ran as fast as he could down the corridor, and around another corner.

Dukrook heard the running feet and sighed, then stood up stiffly. “As they say in the north, ‘no rest for the wicked’. He’s probably going for reinforcements. Help me get the others out of the pit.”

In somewhat of a daze, the young man soon found himself pulling on a rope attached to a heavy weight. He took the time to re-evaluate everything he’d been led to believe since first meeting this group in his uncle’s smithy. When Marmot and Orrin were out of the pit and shaking themselves free of the netting, the dwarf even looked different – smaller somehow, and a lot less noble. Lance didn’t know what to think or how to feel, or where to even begin if he did challenge the aggressive warrior. He watched as Marmot’s eyes caught him. He didn’t greet bother to greet the boy, he merely grunted in recognition. Then he turned and scanned the area on the far side of the chasm.

“Ar-right. Lance, me lad, this is what yer gonna do. See that thick rope across the way? I’m gonna tie some twine to an arrow, and I want you to sink it into that rope, then pull ‘er across to us, understand?”

Lance simply nodded.

The dwarf produced the bow from one of the bundles he and Orrin had brought with them into the pit and shoved it into the young man’s chest. As Lance strung it, his cool eyes locked onto Marmot’s. “Where is my sword?”

Marmot’s demeanor suddenly shifted. “Er… yer what?”

“My sword. I assume you took it from me when the crown knocked me unconscious.”

“Ah… right. We thought ye were dead, of course.”

“Of course.”

“We… uh… we planned on giving it to yer uncle, you know, when we returned to the village.”

“That is what I assumed.”

“Good lad.”

Marmot retrieved the sword from the same bundle where the bow had been stored and returned it to the young man. Lance buckled the belt and scabbard around his waist, and only then turned his attention back to the rope and bow. Orrin had meanwhile prepared an arrow with a length of twine, and Lance took his first shot.

It was a miss. The twine severely affected its flight.

“That’s ar-right, lad, try ‘er again.” Marmot didn’t seem as patient as he was trying to sound.

Lance’s second shot also fell short. Then his third, fourth, and fifth. Marmot began giving him suggestions, obviously letting the façade of calm begin to slip. By his seventh and eighth shot, Lance had figured out how to get enough distance out of the bow, but the arrow still flew wide. At ten and eleven, he was getting close, but still missed.

“Draw the string harder, Lance, ye need more power to sink it into the rope.”

The twelfth shot hit the rope squarely, but bounced off.

“See what I mean? Come now, lad, yer stronger than that, ain’t ye?”

His next three didn’t even come close.

Marmot began cursing and stomping around the corridor, kicking at random rubble and debris. Something about the childish display amused Lance. He smiled as he took aim again. His next three shots were much closer, and seemed forceful enough, but each time he missed was like a dagger twisting into the back of the impatient dwarf.

Over the next half-dozen shots, Marmot groaned louder and louder. He’d fired at the rope nearly thirty times before the dwarf began to curse him directly.

“Don’t you understand that those gnome’s are gonna be back here any minute? Huh? Was I givin’ ye too much credit when I said ye was a smart lad? Ye seem pretty pathetic at the moment, boy, now shoot that rope, or I’m gonna get really angry.”

Lance missed again.

“Damn! Damn! DAMN! Are you a moron or something? I thought ye said ye could shoot!”

“I can shoot.” Lance spat, then nailed the rope dead center.

Without even a ‘thank-you’ or a ‘good-job’, the dwarf snatched hold of the twine and began dragging the rope back across the pit. Lance shook his head in disbelief, and was about to unstring the bow, when he saw the three gnomes charging around the corner pushing an actual ballista.

He scooped the quiver off the floor and began firing at the hunch-backed creatures as quickly as he could. His shots were much more accurate, sticking in the wooden frame of the ballista all around the gnomes. The ballista slowed. Another arrow stuck right into the hand of the largest of the three and he howled with pain and jumped back. Without this one’s strength, the ballista ground to a halt. A chubbier gnome with a full head of curly hair hastily tried to take aim with the bulky device, then released the trigger mechanism.

A wooden bolt the length of a man zipped towards them. The thieves dove, but the ballista had been poorly aimed. It’s hammered-copper point skimmed along the wall to their right, showering them with sparks, but doing no real damage. The bolt ended up at the end of the corridor, striking the wall with a horrific crash. Lance stood and began firing arrows once more.

The curly-haired gnome was already trying in vain to load another big log, but as Lance’s arrows began streaking towards him, he let it clatter to the floor and hid behind the machine. With a loud roar, Marmot swung across the pit. Seeing this, the gnomes lost heart and turned to run. The dwarf paused on the far side, but only long enough to draw his battle-axe and sling the rope back across the pit. By the time Orrin caught it, Marmot was already half way down the corridor.

Lance slung his bow and quiver over his shoulders, preparing to follow Orrin across the chasm. Then he noticed Dukrook, blinking stupidly, staring all around himself with a confused expression.

“You want to go next?” Lance asked.

“If you’re speaking of the rope, you can just forget it. I’m still blind you simpleton. There’s no way I’m grabbing hold of that infernal thing.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once Orrin had reached the other side, he threw the rope back to Lance and waited for him. As soon as the boy had joined him, the halfling took the rope back and draped it across the same peg where Lance had spent so long to free it.

“Shouldn’t we throw it to Dukrook in case he changes his mind or gets his sight back?”

Orrin smiled nervously. “Uh, I think not. I’ll feel safer with it on our side.”

They ran together past the ballista, then around the next bend. They were surprised to find Marmot a little ways down, waiting for them with his fists planted firmly on his hips. “Miserable scum-sucking gnomes. Just disappeared.”

The halfling looked around unsurely. “Where do you suppose they went?”

“If I knew that, I’d be there killin’ ‘em, now wouldn’t I? I think we’re close to the treasure, anyway, that ballista had to come from somewhere.”

“They’re probably waiting in ambush.” Lance stated.

“Well now, lad, I see you’re a blooming genius again. Of course they’re waiting in ambush, that’s why I waited for you. This is gonna take all of us. Speaking of which, where’s Sir Stench?”

“If you mean ‘Dukrook’, he chose not to swing across the pit, still being blind and all.”

Marmot snorted, but he didn’t seem to catch on that Lance knew the sorcerer’s real name. “That cowardly rat. We’ll just have to do this without ‘im. It’ll come out o’ his share, I can tell you that. Now draw your weapons and let’s move.”

Just ahead, the enchanted torches in the walls were unlit. Remembering that they could be extinguished by a voice-command, the small group drew tighter together and prepared for the worst as they stepped into the darkness. They moved in that way for quite a while, turning a few corners which could only be discovered by one of them running into a wall. The further they invaded into the gnome’s territory, the more complete the pitch black became. They moved nervously, and as quietly as humanly possible. It wasn’t so hard for the actual human, nor the halfling, but every time the dwarf’s heavy boots crunched over some pebble, the other two cringed. Lance was glad that at least one of his companions knew how to move quietly. Orrin was so quiet, in fact, that the youth was no longer entirely certain that he was behind them. He briefly considered whispering his name to check on him, but he didn’t want to compromise their stealth further. Marmot’s boots were bad enough.

A sudden loud voice filled the corridor. It was again the language of mysticism.

“La-flamm-ey-ill-lumen-aros!”

The torches flared to life, nearly blinding them with their sudden brilliance. Lance could only see enough to know that he and Marmot were alone in the corridor. Not only was there no halfling – there were no gnomes.

Then three shapes dropped out of hidden panels in the ceiling. The mage bolted down the corridor the way they’d come the instant his boots hit the floor. The other two dropped dangerously close to Lance and Marmot. The young man recognized the gnome who came against him as the same one who’d caught one of his arrows in his hand – the largest of the three. Although he was still much taller, this gnome was packed with muscle, nearly the size of a dwarf. He aimed a series of slashes at the young man, and laughed at the way Lance clumsily blocked them.

“The name’s Verdimax, boy, just thought you’d like to know that before you die.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

What Dukrook heard first was an insidious giggling, and the slap of running feet on stone. His vision had returned enough that he could almost make out light and dark, and when he turned to look down the corridor, an unmistakable gray blur was moving towards him. He stood and began to cast Andric’s Arrow once more. The shape stopped, still across the pit, and began a spell of his own.

The two wizards chanted against one another, gesticulating dramatically and filling their palms with light. Dukrook could only faintly make out the glow, and cursed his blindness – even if he finished his spell first, he could not be certain that he could see the gnome well enough to target him. He came to the end of his verse, and performed the trigger gesture, miming the firing of a bow. A green projectile filled the center of his vision and streaked away. The gnome yelped, and Dukrook saw the dark smear drop.

He squinted hard across the pit, unable to tell if he’d hit the gnome. The good news was that, even if he hadn’t, the opposing mage had dropped his spell. Andric’s Arrow didn’t usually kill, but it caused a deep burn and pain great enough to put even the hardiest warrior out of a battle. Still watching the black smear across from him, Dukrook thought he saw motion. A moment later, he was sure of it. The shape popped upright, and something small appeared, reflecting the dim torchlight.

He had missed, and now the gnome was coming.

The smaller creature flew across the pit with a disturbing howl. Dukrook could only assume that he was on the rope, and pulled his little, half-rusted dagger out of his sheath. Then he remembered the throwing knives he’d stolen from the young blacksmith. The shape landed on his side, brandishing his own shining thing as Dukrook fumbled in his deep, cluttered pockets. His hands closed around something cool and sharp, he yanked it free, then threw it with literal blindness at the approaching smear.

He heard a surprised gasp, saw the shape stiffen, and then it fell backwards. The wizard decided he wasn’t waiting for it to pop back up again. Realizing how close he was to the pit, Dukrook took no chances. He ran forward, and with a few kicks, sent the gnome over the edge of the chasm. Then he sat back down and tried to calm his jangling nerves.

He did so dislike physical battle.

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

Marmot was treating the curly-haired gnome to his most ferocious performance, and the chubby little creature could do little but block and back away. The dwarf was enjoying himself greatly – he was thrilled, in fact. He did so love physical battle.

Lance spied his progress out of the corner of his eye and wished that the dwarf would end his match quickly. In his part of the tunnel, the roles were completely reversed. His opponent was powerful and skilled. His attacks were swift and clever. Lance blocked as best as he could, but he found himself doing little more then batting the gnome’s sword away, and trying not to trip over his own clumsy feet. A few times when he’d left his guard wide open, Verdimax ignored it, almost giving Lance the sense that the gnome was giving him a fair chance – or he was toying with him.

His adversary did, in fact, have an air of nobility about him. Not only was he dressed in fine leather armor over expensive clothing, but his beard and hair were neatly trimmed. It seemed quite an odd thing for a creature that had as low a reputation as the gnomes. At times, Lance even thought he saw a faint smile beaming at him from beyond the crossed swords. He was much too focused on staying alive to think any more on it.

Then the gnome tried to start up a casual conversation. “Tell me thief, is this your first time in battle?”

Lance didn’t know what else to do, so after blocking a particularly jarring slash, he nodded at the shorter creature.

“It shows, unfortunately. Tell me then, what’s your name?”

The youth batted at two rapid thrusts, almost getting himself impaled on the second. “Uh… I’m ‘Lance’.”

“And how old are you, Lance?”

“Sixteen summers.”

Verdimax paused in his offensive long enough for Lance to try a slash of his own. His sword swung so wide that the gnome didn’t even have to try to block it. He shook his head, seeming disappointed. “I see why you became a thief. How long have you been in that profession, Lance?”

Lance swung again, meeting the gnome’s sword this time. “I am not a thief. We are adventurers, on an actual quest – and a noble one at that.”

Verdimax laughed outright, interrupting his series of swings. “Ah Lance, and who told you that, your dwarven friend here?”

Lance didn’t answer – he simply fought.

“Have you considered that you might be being manipulated? The truth is; this dragon’s hoard is legally ours by even human decrees. The halberd mountains are sanctioned gnome territory – their undersides anyway – and as the first to find the treasure, our right to it is protected by salvage laws. So you see, it belongs to me, my brother Ozmitre, and my uncle Tryle. Being that you are here to take it from us, that makes you a thief.”

“I’m no thief, damn you!” Lance lunged, filled with rage, swinging his sword at the muscular creature with as much force as possible. The gnome seemed unconcerned. He stepped quickly aside, trailing his foot in such a way that Lance tripped over it. He crashed face first into the stone wall, his sword clattered against it then bounced out of his hand, and Lance slid down the wall into a pathetic crumpled ball. He rolled over as quickly as he could, waiting for the gnome’s death-stroke to come, but it did not.

With a sad shake of his head, the noble creature kicked Lance’s sword back to where he could reach it. “Never get angry and lose control during a battle, lad, it’s a sure way to give your opponent an advantage.”

Lance simply blinked up at him. Then, over the gnome’s shoulder, he saw an axe-head rise. Some instinct told him to shout out a warning, but there was no time. The axe descended – and Verdimax fell at Lance’s feet. 

The young man clamped his eyes shut as Marmot reached down to retrieve his axe.

“I swear to ye, boy,” the dwarf said happily, “we need to get ye some lessons in battle.” Then he heard a prying, sucking noise.

When Lance opened his eyes, the bloodied warrior was standing between the two bodies of the gnome’s he’d killed, wearing the widest grin Lance had ever seen on his grizzled face. Feeling a vague ‘wrong-ness’, Lance said, “His name was Verdimax, you know.”

Marmot threw his head back and laughed. “So yer’s liked to talk too? Mine introduced himself as ‘Ozmitre’, then blabbed on about he was their main trap engineer. An odd battle, wouldn’t ye say?”

“Yeah… odd battle.”

The dwarf reached out, uncharacteristically offering Lance a helping hand. “Well now. Let’s go have a look-see at our treasure.”

 

 

 

*                      *                      *

 

 

 

Their tunnel soon led them into an enormous cavern.

The floor was irregular, with ledges and pits at all different levels, and numerous stalactites and stalagmites dotting the space like massive teeth. Many of them had been smashed and broken, presumably by the dragon’s body as he made his way towards his roost at the far end of the chamber. It was obvious that something large had lain in this space for centuries. It was at least a hundred-paces wide, slightly concave, and almost totally worn flat by the dragon’s massive body.

Marmot seemed puzzled. If there were a treasure, this is where it would be. Out of understandable curiosity, they made their way towards the roost. The dwarf was surely deeply concerned by the fact that the treasure was not where he expected it to be, but Lance was almost beginning to hope that there was no treasure. Obviously, after living in the cavern for a full year, the gnomes had done something with it.

Coming up over a cleft, they unexpectedly found their camp. The space in the bottom of the miniature canyon was the second smoothest area in the dragon’s cavern, and the gnomes had smartly decided to set their temporary homes there. Hoping to find some clue as to the treasure’s current location, the dwarf altered their path to take them into the gnome’s camp.

Marmot and Lance skidded down a rocky slope, on a path made by the passing of gnomish feet. They entered the camp, seeing a half-dozen tents, three firepits, and a make-shift kitchen with stores of provisions and a few tables under a canopy. Beyond this was a small smithy, surrounded by a half dozen empty barrels, racks of tools and several workbenches. Somebody, Ozmitre presumably, was in the middle of creating some sort bed of spikes – probably for another trap. 

Across from the gnome’s workshop another canopy sheltering a set of small bookshelves, a fully stocked writing desk, and an overstuffed chair that seemed quite out of place in a dragon’s lair. Also in this area was a stained work-table full of mysterious pots, vials and jars, and another larger bookshelf, containing clusters of containers of spell ingredients. These were actually labeled, but in sloppy handwriting. This was obviously their wizard’s study, and when compared to Ozmitre’s workshop, it seemed to be in a hopeless state of disarray. Marmot approached the writing desk, and picked up a stack of sheets of parchment. He grunted. “I don’t read too good, lad, but tell me if this don’t look like some sort of inventory.”

Lance had never learned to read at all, but it did look like a thorough list of a great many items. Reading over his shoulder, Marmot pointed a thick finger at the parchment. “That word there is ‘gold’. Look how many times it’s on here. That treasure’s right nearby here, boy, I can just feel it.”

They left the gnome’s camp, following a set of what looked like wheel tracks up out of the cleft, back towards the roost. At the crest of the rise, they found that they were in one of the highest points in the cavern. Marmot looked around, squinting into the mostly dark cavern, until he saw something that got him excited. “That’s got to be it. Up there, lad!”

Lance looked where he pointed. They hadn’t been able to see it from the vantage point they’d had when they’d entered, but back the way they’d come, a good distance up the wall, was a large, black opening leading away from the dragon’s lair. It was obviously the original entrance the dragon himself had used. What got the dwarf excited, though, were the barrels. There were hundreds of them, stacked in the mouth of the opening, as if ready to be transported out of the cavern.

The dwarf broke into a run, leading Lance towards the opening at breakneck speed. They flew across the rock-strewn floor, up and down slopes, avoiding boulders, ditches and stalagmites, climbing overall as they crossed the cavern. The opening was twenty feet off the ground, making it difficult for a non-flying creature to reach it, but the industrious gnomes had obviously solved that problem. They’d built scaffolding up to the opening, complete with an automatic lift, powered by a cleverly designed system of counterweights. Marmot hopped onto the platform, and reached for the lever. Lance joined him an instant later, knowing that he would have left him behind if he hadn’t been so close.

At the top, the dwarf went straight to the nearest barrel and immediately smashed it open with his axe. Just as they’d expected, a river of gold and jewels poured out. Lance stared at it in awe – it was so beautiful, so shiny. He looked at the endless stacks – there was so much. It might have been more dramatic seeing it piled into a bed in the dragon’s roost, but even in the form of an immense number of towering barrel-stacks, it was no less impressive.

“We found it, lad, we’ve found it…” Marmot seemed almost on the brink of tears, “and there’s every bit as much as I’d hoped there be – and more… so much more.” Lance had to wonder if it was enough to make Marmot an honest dwarf, and split it with his companions as he’d promised, or if there’d soon be more killing. Lance hadn’t admitted it consciously, yet, but he already knew what he would do.

“Congratulations, ‘Sir’ Marmot, and how do you intend to get it out of the cavern?’

Marmot reluctantly tore his gaze away from the glittering pool of spilled treasure. With a wistful expression, he took a closer look at the surrounding area. Deeper into the mouth of the exit, where the barrel stacks ended, was a pair of wagons, loaded down with yet more barrels. Yokes hitched at the front of the wagons signified that they were meant to be drawn by oxen or some other beast of burden, yet there had been no trace of livestock in the cavern. The wagons were pointed forward, aimed deeper into the exit where the cave-in had been caused. Taking a few steps in that direction, Marmot squinted into the darkness. “Aha, that’s a mining operation if ever I saw one. The stupid gnomes must’ve realized they’d need the main entrance to get the treasure away after they’d caved it in.”

“But we’ve seen this cave-in from the other side, there’s no mine or tunnel coming out of it.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to finish it. Then we’ll need to fill in the pit at the entrance, the one with the stepping stones… or we could just build some sorta’ track over it, that’d be better… either way, Lance m’boy, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. I’m sure glad that crown didn’t kill ye.”

Lance couldn’t believe his ears. Apparently the dwarf had a lot more exploitation in mind for Lance before he killed him.

“At some point, someone’s gonna have to go and procure some animals to pull those wagons. I s’pose I could do that while the rest of ye finished the tunnel. That dragon’s carcass is gonna have to be buried as well, or at least hidden. We can’t have some other ambitious cur stumbling across it the way I did. Just in case, we’ll leave what traps in place such as there still is, but somebody’s gonna have to be standing guard at all times. I’ll not be caught napping like them foolish gnomes. Depending on how far the tunnel needs to be dug, we could be done in a matter of weeks. Ah… the thought of walking out of ‘ere with all this lovely gold. I say we start right away. You go fetch Dukrook and bring ‘im to the writin’ desk to look at the inventory. I’ll look around for Orrin and get ‘im started on lightin’ the tunnel. Then ye can start digging.”

Marmot wheeled and marched towards the lift. Lance followed more slowly, letting his feelings form his intentions. As the dumbwaiter descended, the boy realized that he had no interest in any part of this treasure. It had rightfully belonged to the gnomes, who now lay murdered within the corridor that they’d carved themselves. If he kept any part of it, he was not only a party to that murder, but also a thief, no better than the disgusting dwarf riding the platform next to him.

He decided that when the platform reached the bottom, he was just going to walk out of these caverns and forget they ever existed. It seemed as though he’d have to concoct some lie as he passed by Dukrook, and that bothered him. One lie seemed small compared to the mountains of tripe the group of thieves had fed him since the beginning, but Lance firmly resolved to not be like them. He would not lie to Dukrook. He’d try to pass by wordlessly, and if the wizard demanded to know where he was going, he’d get a punch in the mouth.  Lance rather hoped for the latter.

He wasn’t worried about them letting him go. They’d be far to busy with their precious treasure to come after him. In all probability, they’d all kill one another before the tunnel was dug.

Lance decided at that moment that there was in fact, one item from the treasure-trove that he could keep – the crown. The gnome’s note had made it clear that it was freely offered to whomever would leave and forget about the treasure, and that’s exactly what Lance was about to do.

He knew it didn’t belong to the Emperor, but he’d take it to him anyway. Perhaps he would be interested in it, perhaps in exchange for something, perhaps he could even arrange for Lance to win the hand of his one, true love – the lovely Lady Gennifer.

The lift hit bottom and Lance began walking towards the entrance to the gnome’s trapped corridors. The dwarf had turned to head in the opposite direction, and neither of them turned to look at one another over their shoulders.

 

The time for that would come years later.