by Kira Morgana
“Obviously you investigated.” Silvertree prompted the prince, who groaned.
“Well, yes. I discovered a long corridor with two side passages and a strong locked door at the other end. Unfortunately it had an alarm attached to it and I set it off.” Loric trailed off, feeling more than a little ashamed. Should I tell them about the creature I saw? No. Grimhelm would insist on getting men from the local garrison for my protection, then Father would say it I wasn't brave enough to go in alone.
“Oh Laddie, ye ran away, didn’t ye?” Grimhelm shook his head. “No wonder ye’re downing strong mead like water, especially this early in t'morn.”
“I thought survival might be a good idea. Of course I ran.” Silvertree wore a slight smile and Kalytia’s face filled with pity as Loric looked at them. “I can’t inherit anything if I go the same way as Feran and Ingram!”
“Listen, ye young gold-hungry…” Grimhelm started, a frown gathering in his bushy eyebrows like a thunderstorm over the Heart Mountains.
“Well, would you rather I inherited or Korin? He only wants to study.” Loric's voice rose and Kalytia placed a gentle hand on his arm. He got himself under control. “I can't see Korin being able to deal with the Valdierian or the Jinranian, no matter how many books he reads.”
Silvertree and Grimhelm looked at each other.
“Aye, ye may be right Laddie,” Grimhelm said softly. “The lad be more suited to study with the Mage’s Guild, rather than bashing heads along t’border.”
“We shall need a specialist then,” Silvertree mused and sipped his wine.
“Who would you suggest?” Loric asked.
“Thiert.”
Grimhelm’s face darkened and he appeared about to explode. Loric glanced at his friend and shook his head.
“Why Thiert? He’s the biggest thief in Galindren.”
“Precisely because he is the biggest and the best thief in Galindren. We need someone who can disarm traps and open locked doors. I could use my magic, but I only have so much mana I can use each day. Thiert will be able to do it physically.”
Loric considered the proposal.
Grimhelm remained silent, his face looking like one of the gargoyles that graced the battlements of Galindren Castle.
“How will we contact him and what would he want as payment?” Kalytia asked. “I heard rumours that Thiert’s special services are too expensive for even the Empress of Elysia to afford.”
“I can have him here by tomorrow morning. He owes me a favour and will at least come to hear our proposal. It will be up to Prince Loric to persuade him though.” Silvertree stretched. “I have travelled a long way today and I would like a bath, followed by an early night. I would suggest that you all do the same. Assuming that Thiert joins us, tomorrow will be a long day.”
* * *
“Good news, Lord,” the carved Jar said from its plinth. The Aracan looked up from the book he was reading and gestured for the Jar to continue. “Pleasemore Dungeon has reported the presence of Prince Loric. He was discovered poking around the main entrance and was frightened away by an alarm trap.”
Aracan Katuvana tilted his head to one side and regarded the Jar with a questioning air.
“If milord’s minions can eliminate Loric, then Koric will be left with only Korin as an heir. Korin is fourteen, little more than a child, so he should be easy to remove.”
The Aracan nodded and rose, returning to the southern windows. Passing a hand over one window, a detailed three-dimensional map of the Pleasemore Dungeon appeared. Inspecting the dungeon’s defences for a moment, the Aracan snapped his fingers twice. An image of Pleasemore dungeon’s Custodian appeared on the next window.
“Ah, Custodian Shandsberf,” the Jar said. “Your Lord has orders regarding the defences of your dungeon and the possibility of an intrusion by Prince Loric, current heir to the throne of Galivor.”
“I hear and obey, Lord,” Shandsberf replied, bowing as deeply as his corpulent figure allowed.
“Fortify your defences in these places,” the Jar said as Aracan Katuvana pointed out several weaker places on the map of the dungeon, “and dig out an unfortified tunnel from here to here.” The Aracan pointed to the treasury and torture chamber. “Link it with the Southern corridor.”
“I hear and obey, Lord,” Shandsberf said. “I have but one question, if I may be impertinent?”
The Aracan nodded.
“What is it?” the Jar said.
“Will that not cause a weakness in my defences? I have laboured hard to keep this dungeon a secret, in accordance with your orders and allowing any to invade will put rumours of our continued existence abroad.” Shandsberf seemed puzzled.
“An intelligent question; an enlightened question even, Custodian Shandsberf. Good thinking,” the Jar said.
Aracan Katuvana touched a glyph on the edge of the window sill and a whisper of sound emerged from inside his hood. Shandsberf’s head snapped round violently and blood flew from his mouth to splatter against the wall. The Aracan grunted with satisfaction at the spell's result.
“Our Lord does not employ you to think! Do as you are told,” the Jar said.
Shandsberf wiped the blood from his cheek. “Yes, My Lord.”
“You had better,” the Jar said and Shandsberf's image disappeared.
The Aracan passed his hand over the window again and touched a red symbol carved into the lintel. Another face appeared, a man, hooded with a black mask across his mouth.
“Are you aware who owns your soul?” the Jar asked. The terrified look in the man’s eyes confirmed the answer. “Your Lord and Master has some orders for you. You will receive them in the usual manner. Prepare yourself.”
The man swallowed convulsively and nodded before closing his eyes. Aracan Katuvana tapped three times on the symbol and passed his hand over the picture. A shimmering haze surrounded the man’s head and shoulders. He screamed once then fell silent. When the mist cleared, the man’s face had a tattoo of a thorny branch curling around his left eye and up across his forehead under his hood, down the right side of his face and neck. As Aracan Katuvana watched, the tattoo faded until it was only a thin line of faint blue dots.
“When the tattoo reappears, carry out the instructions that appear in your mind,” the Jar said.
The man nodded, shaking visibly as the Aracan touched the red symbol again and the image disappeared. Aracan Katuvana returned to his throne.
* * *
The next morning Loric went down to the main room of the tavern to find Silvertree at a table by the fire. Across from him sat a slight man dressed in a dark brown jerkin, a hood dangling from the collar.
Loric sat down next to Silvertree and motioned to the barmaid. She came over, took his order for breakfast and returned to the kitchen. The man in brown had deep blue eyes and a crest of red hair standing stiffly from the centre of his shaved head.
“Where’s Grimhelm?” Loric asked Silvertree, still studying the other man absently.
“He hath gone abroad this merry morning to gather supplies for our trip,” the elf mage replied. “The beauteous Lady Kalytia is in the Forest Temple, preparing for the adventure that lies ahead.”
“Silvertree, why are you talking like a bad Valdierian epic?” the man in brown asked.
Loric shook his head and smiled wryly. “What have you had to eat this morning Silvertree?”
“The usual, Copperleaf berry bread and water. Why?”
“I thought so. It’s all right, Thiert, Copperleaf berries turn Silvertree excessively Elvish. If you can avoid him until the effects wear off, then you’re doing well.”
“How do you know my name?” Thiert asked.
“I’m the oldest son of the King of Galivor. It’s part of my duties to know who our most able subjects are.” Loric smiled and when the barmaid brought his bacon, bread and a pitcher of milk, he handed her a silver coin.
Thiert grinned.
“I also have to know who our ‘Most Wanted’ are,”
Loric finished.
“Ah. That would explain it. Why did Silvertree bring me here then?” Thiert leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with an expectant air.
Loric made a sandwich of the bacon and bread, bit and chewed while he thought about what he wanted to say. Silvertree had dozed off with his head against his high-backed chair.
“The current buzz in Galindren is that your father is more impressed with your brother’s bandit chasing than he is with your adventure seeking,” Thiert said.
He knows more about me than I thought he would. Loric rolled his eyes and shrugged. “That will change. Besides, Korin doesn’t want to be king. He’s more interested in his studies, and he’s too young.”
Thiert made a noncommittal grunt and watched as the prince finished his sandwich and cleared his mouth with a huge gulp of milk.
“I have located an entrance to one of the fabled Dungeons of Doom. The stories suggest that great riches and glory can be won by those who defeat the inhabitants of even one dungeon, let alone those that remain undiscovered,” Loric drained his milk and refilled the pottery cup. “If the stories are true, then they can’t be inhabited any more.”
Thiert’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward again.
Loric noticed idly that the thief had a faded tattoo on the back of his right hand and one that ran across his forehead and around his left eye. He couldn’t make out what the design was. Must be something to do with the Thieves Guild.
“What sort of ‘riches’ are we talking about?” Thiert asked, trying to conceal his eagerness.
“Well, the legends have it that each dungeon is built around a vein of precious stones and metals. So it would follow that each dungeon would be full of riches.” Loric tilted his head backward to drain the last of the milk from his cup.
“So why do you need me? Silvertree should be capable of handling anything you should encounter.” Thiert leant back, but Loric could sense his interest.
“I only have so much mana available before I have to rest,” Silvertree said without opening his eyes. “I can’t deal with every locked door and trap we may encounter.”
“So you need me to get you into the dungeon?” Thiert frowned.
“Well, we need you to help us get to the centre of the dungeon, yes,” Loric replied, looking at Silvertree. The elf seemed asleep, but Loric saw his eyes were open a sliver.
“So I could name my price then? I have the skills you need and you have something I need.” Thiert smiled.
Loric sat up, lacing his fingers around his empty cup to stop them jittering.
“What would your price be? Obviously you would get a share of the treasure from the dungeon. What more would you want?” He frowned. He’s up to something.
“If I need gold, Princeling, I steal it or extort it. I have more gold in my account with the Thieves Guild than you have probably seen in your entire life,” Thiert snorted.
“What do you want then?” Loric asked flatly.
“A favour to be asked for as and when I choose, and for you to grant as and when you can without asking in advance what it is.” Thiert smiled more broadly and Silvertree opened his eyes and sat bolt upright.
“This favour, it wouldn’t be anything that would cause harm to anyone?” Loric frowned.
“I don’t know,” Thiert shrugged. “I don’t know what it is yet.”
“Then I would have to have some guarantees,” Loric replied.
“Fair enough, Prince Loric. What guarantees do you want?” Thiert stretched and lounged back on his chair.
“I will not do anything that would cause harm to the Kingdom or any of the inhabitants.”
“That’s fair, it’ll be a personal favour only,” Thiert said, spitting into his palm and holding it out.
Loric returned the gesture and they shook once.
Half an hour later, Grimhelm returned.
“Everything is arranged Loric. Do ye want to go now?”
“Is Kalytia still at the temple?”
“I saw her going into the saddlers. She said she’d catch up with us.” Grimhelm looked at Thiert and frowned.
“Hello, Sir Grimhelm. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Thiert smiled at the glowering dwarf.
“You!” Grim spat. “Silvertree never said Thiert was this creature.”
Loric must have looked puzzled because Thiert sighed and in a patient voice explained, “I hustled a Dwarf Bar in Galindren about two years ago. Sir Grimhelm lost about two hundred gold pieces, I believe. Of course I didn’t use my real name when I did it, so he couldn’t find me to get his money back”
“’T’was three hundred gold pieces, Thief.” The dwarf had drawn the huge war hammer that he wore across his back and looked menacingly at Thiert.
Thiert shook his head and resignedly pulled a very large money bag from his belt. He began counting out gold pieces. By the time Kalytia joined them, the slender little man had six stacks of gold coins in front of him.
“…two hundred and ninety-eight, two hundred and ninety-nine, three hundred.” Thiert peered over the stacks to find himself the focus of most of the eyes in the room. “There you go, Sir Grimhelm. Three hundred gold pieces. The exact amount of gold you invested in my little scheme.”
Grimhelm pulled out a small, grey stone cube and waved it slowly across the pile of gold. The cube began to glow slightly.
“A metal sniffer?” Thiert protested. “Do you not trust me, Sir Grimhelm?”
“Not as far as I could throw ye,” the dwarf muttered as the cube brightened to a gold colour and beeped. “Thank ye for being honest. Ye must be feeling faint from the experience.” The dwarf finished and put the cube away. He pulled a money bag with a Dwarven symbol imprinted onto it and began to sweep the gold into the bag. The neck of the bag flared with a gold glow as the coins tipped into it.
Loric watched amazed, as the whole pile disappeared into a bag that looked like it could hold only 100 coins. “Well, now that’s settled, shall we get going?” he asked.
* * *
Outside the Inn, a group of older men had gathered. As Loric and his companions left the Inn, the men advanced upon them.
“Lord, please, don't go into that place again.” One man, wearing a gold and silver chain stepped forward. “You are the best hope our people have of a future and no one who has gone into those woods has ever come out alive.”
Before Loric could say anything, Silvertree stepped forward. “Worry not, Mayor Heinlin, the prince is well protected in myself and Sir Grimhelm.”
“That's as may be, Ser Mage, but ye've not seen the creatures which lurk in them woods.” Another man, wild of hair and stinking of apple brandy threw himself forward to grab Silvertree's robe. “A devil demon stalks the shadows and foul stenches emanate from holes in the earth. Beware!”
Silvertree untangled himself from the man and smiled gently.
“I thank you for your concern, Gentlemen of Pleasemore, but we shall be fine.”
Kalytia whispered something and the man straightened. He looked embarrassed and trundled back into the group, pushing his way through.
“Espilieth protects us, good Sers. She shall see that no harm comes to any who enter.”
The Mayor nodded and sighed. “Fare thee well, then, my Lords and Lady.”
The men shuffled their feet and added good wishes as the group set off.
* * *
Pleasemore lay beside a large lake fed by the mountain streams. Just an hour’s walk north of the village a woodland had grown up, looking out of place against the surrounding farmland. A stout dry stone wall divided the fields from the trees, the track they followed taking a sharp turn to the right and following the wall rather than cutting through it.
“How are we supposed to get in there?” Kalytia asked as they walked beside the wall.
“There’s a broken bit just up here,” Loric said. “Looks like a bull or something knocked it down.”
“You sure it was a bull?” Thiert cleared his throat, l
ooking around at the wide, hedged fields.
“The field opposite it…” Loric pointed as they came parallel with the tumbled stones, “…has a cattle herd in it.”
Near the fence dividing the track from the field, a large red coated bull snorted at them.
Thiert jumped. “Why does everything in the countryside have to make noises?”
“’Tis but nature, friend Thief.” Silvertree said.
Grimhelm coughed hard, covering his mouth, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“Can you tell it to shut up then?” Thiert said as he scrambled over the wall.
Loric followed with Kalytia, helping her down on the other side, while Silvertree and Grimhelm climbed.
Inside, the ground beneath the trees was overgrown. The undergrowth consisted chiefly of brambles, stingwort and stinkweed, with large brightly coloured toadstools clustering around fallen trees and rotting stumps.
“This place is creepy,” Thiert muttered.
“Ye'd find anywhere without walls creepy,” Grimhelm snapped. “Be silent, I feel eyes upon us.”
“Don't be daft, Grim. It's a wood, of course we're being watched; by squirrels, deer, rabbits, birds—” Loric trailed off in his recitation, unable to think of anything else that could be around them.
“Don't forget the trees, Loric.” Silvertree smiled and gestured around them. “The trees have eyes too.”
“As if that makes me feel better.” Thiert's eyes darted around him.
Kalytia and Loric exchanged an amused glance.
They made their way into the wood.
Eventually the trees thinned and sky appeared above them.
Loric led the way to the dungeon entrance, weaving through the ruins toward a massive tower that had lost its upper reaches in some storm or battle hundreds of years past. He scanned the area, peering into the trees sprouting between the stones, his hand slipping to his hilt.
“It’s noon. Birds should be flying around. Why is it so quiet?”
“Maybe they know we’re coming,” Thiert quipped. When no one laughed, his smile faded and he frowned. “Don’t tell me you’ve already been in there.”
