by Max Anthony
The baron’s mother flew through the air, her claws extended in readiness to rip out Viddo’s throat. The thief looked at her, calmly yet unmoving, almost as if he’d accepted the inevitability of his fate. A split second before the razor-sharp claws took his life, Viddo vanished completely from sight and the hag landed on the stones next to where he’d been. A moment later, a thunderous strike from a stout wooden staff connected with its head, driving one of the quarrels another two inches into its brain. At the same time as the staff landed, a battle-axe hit it in the shoulder, almost severing one of the spindly arms. The creature hissed and spat, writhing away jerkily out of reach of further punishment. As soon as it was able, it was back on its feet, just in time for Viddo to reappear behind it and plunge his shortsword completely through its back and revealing six inches of blade through its sternum.
The Baron’s mother wasn’t killed by this series of blows. She threw herself off the sword which had her skewered and attempted to leap away into the bedroom. The adventurers were not in the mood for any more games. Jera and Viddo closed in quickly enough to land further injurious blows, whilst Rasmus stood back to allow his companions the room to act. The wizard was running short on incineration spells, but used one of the remaining few to add his own contribution to bringing down the hideous creature which sought their deaths.
The hag was possessed of an almost limitless constitution and she continued to writhe and thrash even after Jera had lopped both of her arms off and one of her feet. By this stage, it was a simple matter for professional combatants such as Jera and Viddo to remain uninjured whilst they hewed away at the crone.
“Look, the gem fades with each strike,” said Viddo, kicking the old woman in the ribs.
“It’s as if the injuries we inflict drain the power of the gem as it sustains her,” replied Jera, cutting off the creature’s other foot and half of the shin with it.
Shortly, the writhing and thrashing became a flopping. Then it became a twitching, which afterwards turned into stillness. The Baron’s mother had been thoroughly butchered and lay in pieces across an area ten feet in diameter.
“I was expecting her to say a bit more as we killed her,” said Rasmus, leaning on his staff. “A few insults perhaps or a demand for payment for the broken decanter.”
“I imagine she learned her lesson when she saw what happened after she’d accused us of drinking her brandy,” replied Viddo. “It’s rarely a good idea to talk when you know you’re going to attack someone.”
“Such stupidity has worked in my favour on more than one occasion,” admitted Rasmus.
“I hope the Baron doesn’t wear the same clothes as his mother,” said Jera, apropos of nothing. “I don’t think I could stomach fighting a man in one of these dresses.”
“I wouldn’t bet against it. The Valps family appear to be warped and twisted, even when compared to the denizens of the Trilbus university,” said Viddo, looking at Rasmus out of the corner of his eye.
Rasmus bit. “It’s a long while since I saw you pull off that vanishing trick,” he said. “A few months ago, when you got caught trying to steal a loaf of bread from that deaf and blind baker, if I’m not much mistaken.”
“I rarely need to use it these days,” said Viddo, pretending he’d not heard the aspersions cast upon his thieving abilities. “It’s good to have it there for emergencies, though. One of the benefits of the profession, you know?”
They left the suite of rooms behind them, now that it was evident that the Baron didn’t live in them. They were aware the possibilities were running low and that sooner or later they were likely to come across the ruler of the castle.
“His mother wasn’t awake. Are we certain the Baron will be?” asked Jera.
“I don’t know,” said Rasmus. “Our friend Viddo here might have set off a chain of events when he pulled the lever in the blood tank room.”
“I’d have expected to hear a monstrous roar, at least,” said Viddo in his defence. “Or to have seen the Baron himself come stomping from his quarters, ready to attack any intruders.”
“I’m hoping we can steal his goods before we encounter him,” said Rasmus, without any shame at all. “This is the third adventure I’ve been involved in without being able to fully recover my magical resources. Many is the time I’ve wished to have a certain spell available to me, only to have to make do with an alternative. I’m feeling less well-prepared than I have done in years.”
“It must remind you of the old times,” said Viddo, drifting towards sentimentality.
“Yes it does. Firing off my single arcane ball at a goblin before running back to my spellbook if my opponent didn’t perish. I enjoy the memories, but I don’t miss the feeling of weakness.”
They exited the crone’s suite of rooms and walked the short distance to the second of the large doors they’d seen on this floor of the castle.
“There’s a plaque here. ‘Baron Valps’ it says,” said Rasmus.
“Maybe we should look a bit more closely in future before we make a snap judgement on which way to go,” said Viddo, putting no blame at all on Jera, even though it had been her decision to head left at the top of the steps.
“I like to take things as they come,” replied the wizard, happy for random chance to take him where it would.
The Baron’s door was sealed with two separate locks, something which Viddo had not encountered in a long time. Nevertheless, his enthusiasm for the challenge was not diminished by this minor detail and he soon had both locks sprung, though he accidentally snapped his favourite lockpick in the process. Fortunately, he had seven others like it and was not so attached to the tool that he would bother to mourn it.
“I hope there are no more portraits,” said Rasmus, waiting for the thief to swing open the now-unlocked door.
The wizard’s wishes came to naught. Behind the door was a long room of great size, lit with blood gems and with many portraits hanging on the right-hand wall. On the left-hand wall, there were suits of armour, propped up against wooden frames. The armour had likely once been polished to a high sheen, though now it had dulled with age. Jera had learned that magical armour didn’t generally fade with time and she was therefore disappointed to see that there was little chance she’d be getting hold of any new equipment from the armours arrayed here.
The floor was tiled in something which may have been polished red granite – it was difficult to be certain of the exact hue in the unnatural light of the room. Viddo set off confidently across it, allowing his heels to make a distinguished clacking sound as he went. “Trapdoor here,” he said, pointing at a section of four tiles and not breaking stride. Without hesitation, the thief marched straight up to a portrait of a woman wearing a green floral dress. He reached up and pulled it from the wall, taking care to throw it face-down onto the floor. There was a tiny blemish on the stone behind the painting, which Viddo pressed. After a short pause, they heard a grating sound, as something made from stone shifted into a new position.
“How did you know?” gasped Jera.
“The Baron seems to have a fixation with his mother. It’s not uncommon amongst the wealthy or the powerful. You’ll see that all of these other portraits are of less cherished family members. The Baron was unable to resist the temptation to conceal his secrets behind a painting of his beloved mother.”
“Do all thieves know these things?” Jera asked.
“It’s something one learns,” said Viddo. In reality, only the most accomplished thieves learned this particular trick. Lesser practitioners of the art tended to fail messily when they attempted to burgle the abodes of the most powerful men. Viddo knew this, but was reluctant to explain in case he came across as an immodest lout.
With his companions in tow, Viddo strode across the width of the room, once more pointing out the location of the trapdoor, in case Rasmus plummeted through to whatever lay below. The wizard looked at the tiles as he walked past. They looked identical to the others. Sometimes, he just didn’t kn
ow if Viddo was pretending. Not that he had any doubts about the thief’s competence.
When they reached the far side of the room, Viddo stopped in front of one of the suits of armour. It was a full set of plate and worth a lot of money even in its non-magical state. It was on a foot-high stone pedestal and the wood of its stand was visible. There was also a gap in the wall behind it, deep in shadow. Viddo pulled at the suit of armour. It was free-standing and he was able to lower it to the floor with little sound. With the armour out of the way, they got a clearer view of what the thief had discovered. It was a passage about six feet high and less than two wide. This passage went five feet into the wall and then turned sharp left. Viddo stepped over the pedestal and inched his way inside. There was no light here apart from that which filtered in from the room outside. His eyes were good enough to see well in the dark and he liked what he saw.
“There’s a little room along there with a chest in it,” he said, having gone far enough into the passage that he was able to see all the way along the left-hand turn.
“Excellent!” said Rasmus. In his excitement, he felt obliged to come closer, and stepped on the stone pedestal to bring himself nearer to the passage. There was a loud clicking sound. “Oh bother. I am starting to develop a healthy dislike of clicking noises.”
There was another rumbling sound. At first, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. Viddo was still in the passage and, aware that something bad was likely to happen, he came out in order to be prepared for whatever it was.
“The roof of the passage is coming down,” said Jera, pointing back into the tunnel. Sure enough, where it turned to the left, the ceiling was slowly descending.
“Give me your staff, quickly,” snapped Viddo, holding out his hand.
Shocked into action, Rasmus silently offered his staff to the thief. Viddo snatched it and dashed into the alcove. He placed the staff upright within the passage, having been just in time to stand it vertically.
“My staff!” said Rasmus, suddenly realising that he’d handed it over without thinking things through.
“We need to stop that ceiling coming down any further,” said Viddo. “There’s no way I could get to the room at the end and return with the chest without being crushed.”
The ceiling of the passage pressed down upon the end of Rasmus’ staff. There was a creaking sound and a crunching as the wood of the staff was compressed. The magics within it could not withstand the immense force of the gears which pushed the ceiling downwards. The staff bowed, cracked and then shattered as if it had been made of the most brittle material imaginable.
“My staff!” repeated Rasmus with dismay, only faintly aware that numerous sharp splinters of wood had been propelled out of the tunnel. Luckily, no one was hurt.
“Quick! Give me your axe!” said Viddo, reaching out towards Jera.
“Rasmus’ staff has just broken!” she said. “Won’t the same happen to my axe?” Jera knew her axe was of only reasonable potency, but she had still become quite attached to it.
“The wizard’s staff was made of wood. It was the least valuable of our magical items, so I thought it for the best if I use it first.”
“Very well, if you’re sure,” said Jera, doubt dripping from her voice. She held out the battle-axe, which Viddo took.
Once more in the passage, Viddo propped the magical axe against the wall. Again, he was only just in time to position it before the ceiling dropped too low for it to fit vertically. The trio watched with more than a small amount of trepidation as the stone ceiling touched the top of the battle-axe. There was another creaking sound, though this time it wasn’t the noise of a cheap magical stave being put under vast compression. This time it sounded like metal cogs and gears straining against resistance. They heard a muffled cracking sound, somewhere deep within the stone and the axe remained unbroken.
“I think that’s done it!” said Viddo.
“Can I have my axe back now?” asked Jera.
“Of course. It has performed its task splendidly, without any visible bowing in the shaft.” Viddo reached for the axe and tried to pull it clear. It didn’t move.
“You’ve got it wedged, haven’t you?” asked Jera dolefully.
“Nothing that a bit of effort won’t overcome, I’m sure,” replied Viddo, attempting to keep his voice confident and cheerful. He gripped the weapon with both hands and pulled harder. When that failed, he kicked at the head of the axe with the side of his boot, in the hope that he could dislodge it. His efforts failed and the battle-axe stayed put.
“You’ve managed to single-handedly disarm us,” said Rasmus. “Next time we should put your hand-crossbow into the trap and see if it comes out unscathed.”
“I must apologise,” said a flustered Viddo. “I was so keen to find out what lies in that chest that I have put us in a difficult position.”
“The past is already behind us,” said Rasmus – he could be philosophical at times. “Get yourself along there and haul out that chest.”
Keen to make amends, but not so keen that he’d allow himself to be crushed in the cause, Viddo examined the ceiling trap. Once he’d assured himself that it wasn’t going to resume its downward motion, he crouched low and hurried along the passage, taking extra care to look out for any further traps. It would be a foolish thief who didn’t keep an eye out when under pressure. The chest he’d seen was contained in its own small room of five feet square. The chest itself was solid wood, bound with iron straps – a standard-looking example, if somewhat larger than normal. There was a handle at each end and Viddo grasped one, using it to turn the chest into a position where he could drag it behind him. With some grunting and puffing, he managed to pull it along, though he had to stop to adjust his grip twice before he got it to the end. After that, he had to call for Jera’s assistance to get it around the corner and into the room.
“It’s a heavy one,” he said. “Want to have a look inside?”
21
The chest was tidily locked. Viddo was in no mood to play and jimmied it open using a mixture of brute force, finesse and a quantity of muttered swearing. All three were aware that they were in a position of potentially great danger, so they kept their guard up and their volume down.
“There was no rattling of shifting coins when I dragged it here,” Viddo said as he completed his work. “I’m intrigued.” He opened the lid.
“Not bad,” Rasmus conceded. “Or at least there’s a lot of potential.”
“Must be the Baron’s personal stash,” said Viddo, lifting out the top item, which was a heavy-headed mace.
“I wonder where he keeps his coins,” said Rasmus, peering into the depths of the chest. “I can’t see a single one.”
“There might be gems?” asked Jera.
“No, there are no gems in here,” said a fourth voice.
“Who was that?” asked Rasmus, looking around.
“Me,” said the voice.
“Stop pissing about – who spoke?” said the wizard. He had a short fuse when it came to such antics.
“Here, in this chest. You’ll be so glad you’ve found me. I am without doubt, the single most powerful longsword you will ever lay your hands on. Get me out, quickly now!”
Viddo reached into the chest and took out a magnificent example of a longsword. The hilt and pommel were intricately crafted, with dragon wing swirls and patterns that defied the eye to understand them. The blade was slightly longer than usual and even in the red illumination of the blood gems it gleamed pure silver, as if the power within were somehow enough to impose over light itself.
“My name is Dragonbane the Almighty. Which one of you will claim me? If you must fight over me, please don’t hurt the lady, since it would offend my unsurpassed chivalry if something were to happen to her.”
As the sword talked, Rasmus took up the task of emptying the chest. There were several more items within, which he removed and placed carefully on the floor. While the wizard performed this tas
k, the sword did not let up in its self-aggrandisement.
“With me by your side, there will be nothing to stand in your way. Who are we fighting? Dragons are my favourite. They fall like wheat in the face of my splendour. I imagine you’re so happy you’ve got me. It’ll take a long time for me to list all of my many skills.”
The chest was soon emptied and Viddo carefully replaced the longsword back within.
“Is the Baron still around?” asked the sword. “I’ll kill him easily. And his werewolf guards. There was one time I faced more than fifty gargantuan demon werewolves and….why are you putting me back in this chest? I’ve just got out.”
As the lid came down upon it, the sword managed to splutter out some final words.
“I’ll decapitate any enemy with every twentieth strike!” it said in desperation. The lid closed and the sword’s voice became blissfully remote. Viddo pushed the chest into the alcove once more and returned to his companions.
“What have we got?” he asked.
“Another shield,” said Jera glumly. “I was enjoying myself with that battle-axe.”
“It’s the curse of the warrior,” said Viddo sympathetically. “Everyone likes to stab things, whilst not everyone wants to stand in front of an enormously strong opponent with only a shield and some bits of magical armour for protection.”
“On the plus side, you’ll always be in demand,” said Rasmus.
Jera sighed and looked at the shield. It was large, round and without decoration.
“It’s a good one,” said Viddo. “Better than the one that got broken.”
“I see there’s another breastplate.”
“Much better than your last,” Viddo assured her.
