by Ben Walsh
Chapter Twenty One
Each step brought on a fresh twang of pain. No matter how hard Stan tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, the pain was excruciating. It took them triple the amount of time to re-climb the stairs, with Stan, Marvin and Roxie trudging slowly forwards from the rear. Ponch led the way, reluctantly pausing to allow the group to remain one.
Eventually, they reached the top of the stairs, and they spread out along the wall, their backs flat against it to avoid being seen. Ponch peered around the side, glancing back with a confused look.
“There is nothing out there,” he whispered, as loudly as he dare.
“Maybe we’ve got lucky, they must be in another part of the cave,” Worgan reasoned, with genuine optimism in his voice.
“I am not so sure,” Ponch replied, “but we must hope.” He meandered his way to the back of the line, where Stan had slumped down against the floor.
“You are hurt, can you walk?” He asked.
“Yes, of course,” Stan replied defiantly, before collapsing in pain as he tried to put weight back on his wounded leg.
Ponch looked to Marvin and Roxie.
“The two of you must help him, I will fight in front of you if it comes to that,” he stated, leaving no room for discussion. “We must go now, come quickly, and be quiet.”
He gestured towards Worgan, who tiptoed out beyond the wall, while Ponch and Roxie helped to pull Stan up. Cautiously, they edged out into the open, before tiptoeing as fast as they could towards the exit. Worgan and Loose led, while Ponch followed behind Stan, all armed and ready. But no attack was forthcoming. They hurried past goblin corpses, burnt to a crisp, and gold lay flung across the floor in all directions. This made their passage difficult, and slower than the entrance, as they had to go a longer way round, to avoid moving the heavy, potentially loud gold.
“This is ridiculous,” Roxie complained, as once again they had to take a long detour around an enormous fallen gold stack. “Surely it won’t be that loud if we walk over it?”
As if in answer, Worgan accidently stepped on a piece, and slipped to the floor as he lost his footing on the slick surface. As he fell, he knocked a nearby shield, which was propped up against a goblin’s body. The shield twisted on its axis, before dropping to the ground with a loud CLANG!
The group stopped, as Loose darted over to help up his brother. Meanwhile, Stan turned to glance back nervously, while Ponch’s eyes darted left and right, expecting an attack at any moment. At first, however, they heard nothing. Worgan and Loose made their way back over to the ground, with Loose slapping Roxie on the back as he went. “That is why we don’t walk on the gold, my friend!”
They set off again, more carefully now, although if the noise of the falling shield hadn’t alerted Gordon or any remaining goblins, then not much would, Stan allowed himself to think.
That was when it came. A sound from afar, from somewhere beneath them. It was a barely audible noise, one that could easily be mistake for the soft growling of an agitated dog. Except for one thing – there were no dogs in this cave.
“RUNNNNNN!!!!” Ponch screamed, before yanking Stan by the collar and dragging him towards Worgan, who duly picked him up and cradled him in his enormous arms, charging towards the great door.
Marvin and Roxie led, with Worgan closely behind, while Ponch and Loose lingered towards the rear, ready to turn and fight Gordon when the time came. Stan could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he was bounced up and down. He was sick and tired of running, he thought. If he made it back to Oadford, he’d lead a simple life. He’d go out on his dad’s boat, provide a rebirthing for the family’s proud fishing history. Bizarrely, in spite of it all, the thought made him smile. He would like that - a nice, simple life.
He was snapped back to the present by the sound of a roar, which seemed to be from directly beneath them. Stan craned his head to look back, but Ponch continued to sprint for the exit. In front of him, Marvin was moving faster than he’d even seen him move before. He was half the size he’d been just weeks ago. He had probably never moved so much in his life before, Stan thought, before feeling ashamed of his snide comment, even if it had only been mental.
The ferocious, terrifying roar seemed to be growing closer, yet there was no sign of Gordon from anywhere. Finally, the great door came into view, and for the first time Stan allowed himself to believe that they were going to make it.
It was at this point, as Stan allowed hope to creep back into his mind that the floor inches in front of Marvin seemed to crumble. Simultaneously, a huge fireball soared through the bottomless chasm created, closely followed by the head and body of Gordon the Gruesome. Gold and rock was flung in all directions as he burst out, and the floor shook with such vigour that Worgan dropped Stan before flying back and into a large rock. Stan paused for just long enough to take in the sight of Gordon hovering in front of the group, before clambering his way behind a rock for cover. To his relief, as Stan looked to his left, he saw that Marvin had somehow done the same.
With the crackling of huge explosions filling the air, as Gordon hurled fire at his friends, Stan crawled his way over to Marvin, ignoring the crushing devastation of falling so close to the end. As he peered around the corner of the rock offering his only protection, Stan could see the Great Door, teasingly close.
“This way,” he yelled, forced to shout over the sound of the ferocious attack. Stan crawled away from the noise and the Great Door, off of the main rocky path cutting through the cave and beneath an overhanging rock face, sandwiching himself between it and the path. Marvin joined at him, his face pale with terror.
“I have an idea!” Stan roared, “We need to get up there!” He pointed upwards, towards the top of the rock face they were squashed under.
To his frustration, Stan could sense the doubt seeping into his friend’s mine.
“Stan, we need to stay put, it’s obviously the pain that’s making you think funny? Ponch will sort this.”
Stan cursed, loudly, so loudly that Marvin jumped in his skin, and for a moment Stan felt guilty. He brushed this aside, and hastily revealed his plan. Marvin was silent throughout, and Stan saw what little colour was left, drain from his face, but he nodded, and wriggled out of the gap.
Once the two boys had freed themselves from the hole, they grabbed one another’s hand and staggered away from the commotion that was unveiling behind them, praying that their friends would survive long enough for their plan to work. They stumbled from side to side, as they clambered over rocks and boulders, and over countless goblin remains.
The sound of roaring filled Stan’s head, as they wound their way up and up, each painful, exhausting step taking them closer to their destination. Flashes of light continued to illuminate the cavern, and at one point Stan heard a stomach churning scream. He forced himself to ignore it, pressing on, as gold and stone tumbled to the ground. Occasionally, they would pass a small opening in the rock face, and catch a glimpse of an enormous, angry dragon tail swatting at anything and everything that it could. They pushed themselves further and further, until finally the rock surface ended.
Stan peered down, looking onto a terrifying scene. Even from this height, Gordon the Gruesome was enormous. His spiky, blood stained tail was thrashing like an angry alligator, and fire was hurling from his mouth like an angry hog-roast, spitting at those who dared come too close. His friends were tiny, but still large enough to make out. Stan felt a tugging at his arm, and spun round to see Marvin, pale and cowering in the corner.
Stan hurried over to him, the adrenalin and fear overcoming his pain. He unpocketed the Emerald, and leaned in close for Marvin to hear.
“Here goes,” he said, anxiously, after a long pause.
However, before he got the chance, Marvin threw his arms around him.
“What are you doing??” Stan cried out, but Marvin just hugged him tighter. Stan tried but failed to fight it off, and eventually he succumbed and grabbed a hold of his be
st friend, holding him closely.
“Thank you for keeping me safe,” Marvin finally replied, as he drew away, “you’re the best friend I could ever wish for. And I want you to know that it doesn’t matter, whether or not we make it. You have done more for me and us than anybody else could do in a million years.”
Stan felt himself choking up, and dried his eyes with his grubby sleeve. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t find the words he so desperately wanted to say, and he simply nodded, before re-gathering the Emerald, which had fallen to the floor.
Stan held the Emerald in his hands, twisting it round so as to look at it from all angles. He looked up to Marvin, and tried to forget the fact that the lives of him and his friends were entirely dependent upon a stone. He took a deep breath, before clearing his throat and considering his words one final time. Somehow, the noise from below had faded in Stan’s head, and he forgot even of the presence of Marvin.
“Emerald, Emerald, oh mighty creation, let us have a crossbow, with which we can slay this ferocious dragon!” He whispered, not daring to say it any louder, for fear of Gordon hearing. What happened next had to be seen to be believed. Before Stan’s eyes, the Emerald began to vibrate, springing in his hand. It twisted and turned, before it grew, spreading out, until it suddenly transformed into an enormous, wooden crossbow, armed with a single, steel bolt. Meanwhile, in his pocket, Stan felt the edges of the Emerald return, pressing firmly against his leg.
“It’s huge,” Marvin gasped, awestruck.
“It will have to be, to penetrate Gordon’s skin!” Stan exclaimed, equally awestruck. “Come on, help me!” He begged, beckoning for Marvin as he tried to carry the mighty weapon to the ledge, stumbling under the weight as he did so.
Marvin hurried over, and soon enough they had the crossbow facing down at the dragon. Stan found himself wishing that he had Roxie with him, rather than Marvin, as she was the best shot by far. But they would have to make do – they had only the one bolt, and they had to make it count.
Concentrate, Stan thought.
He saw the flames, heard the roaring, smelt the blood and sweat and tears. Felt the earth move beneath his feet.
Concentrate, Stan thought.
Stan looked at Marvin. His best friend nodded at him, and Stan knew it to be his sign of readiness. He composed himself.
Concentrate.
Stan fired.
