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Part 4: The Treasure

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The wizard, on finding the impotence of his magic against me, had probably been trying to get some weapon with which he could have physically fought, as I found myself in a medium-sized weapon’s room. Upon the farthest wall from me there was a smaller door than the one which I had just passed through, but which was made from fine wood, which was carved to show dwarves mining the precious substance siiol.

The walls were covered with weapons on various types, many of them left behind by men whom had been forced out of the northern lands almost a century ago, or had been stolen from slain men more recently. However, I saw fine examples of the Deodm scimitar, the Slard niorra, a throwing weapon similar to the boomerang, but with a searing edge, and the Orcish dwalik, a form of throwing knife with two ends and a handle in the centre.

I knew all to be fearsome weapons in capable hands, but most impressive of all was the great broadsword of the ancient Trollkeis, near legendary rulers of the Trolls in the days before the emigration from Trollmount. The sword was easily eight feet long, and I dreaded to think of the troll that had once held it. It was not notched in a single place, and I could almost see the magic that it contained. Quite clearly it was not used because, fortunately for us, there was no troll alive who was of sufficient stature to wield it.

There were many fine instruments of death there, but apart from the sword of the Trollkeis which could evidently not be used by me, or any other human, I found none which even approached the superior quality of my own sword, so I approached the smaller door.

Placing my ear to the tiny keyhole, I heard the gruff voices of two arcs discussing the relative merits of Rondarian and Halvionian beer. There were no footsteps so I knew that they were either sitting down, or leaning against a wall. Whatever their positions I knew that they were by no standards alert. It would be an easy task to slay these two.

I waited a moment to see if any others spoke, but they did not, and so I decided to take my chances with them. Gripping the golden hilt of my sword, I flung open the door and leaped inside, taking the two orcs by surprise.

Luckily, orcs are slow-witted beasts, and so I had a few seconds while they got over their surprise. I was able to give one a severe cut in his upper arm, making him change his sword-arm. The other dodged my wild slash at him, and took a few steps back while he got out his sword. Both had dwalik strapped to their belts, but seemed to disregard them because of the confined space.

Now they both came at me again, each trying to outflank me. They managed this, and their faces broke into evil grins as they began to sense victory.

Determined to not die (as I’m not partial to being killed) I fainted towards one, and as the one behind me automatically moved in closer I leapt back with sword outstretched.

Fortuitously, the orc with a maimed arm was standing behind me and I took him by surprise. He was unable to parry the blow, and the sword dealt a death-blow to him, emerging at the base of the spine.

As I thudded into his body blood splashed onto my face, momentarily covering my eyes. I lifted my arm to wipe it off. When my eyesight was restored I saw the last arc, his grin replaced with a cruel grimace, rushing towards me.

I pretended to blindness a moment more, then, as his sword sliced down through the air towards my head I rolled quickly to one side. While the sound of his blow still rang upon the stone I swung my sword up from the floor, cutting deeply into his thigh.

He screamed with pain, but still he swung at me again. His blow went awry, and I was able to pull my weapon free from his thigh. He screamed again and fell onto one knee.

I raised my sword high above my head, and said to him, “You have fought well, my friend. Let the Gods make you a human in your next life.”

“Hah!” spat the orc, “Let the Gods rot in their own bile. Putting me in this form was their idea of fun. I will bring the Gods to their knees before I rest in Ashnaror. Kill me, but I will return to haunt you, that I swear upon the spirit of Ythuid.”

I was intrigued, as Ythuid is the name given to the innermost soul of man, in the religion of Nyerl, the goddess of wisdom, to whom I had been annointed at birth. To my knowledge, only true men were permitted to serve Myerl yet this orc appeared to know of her secrets.

“Are you a man?” I asked him cautiously.

“What does it look like?” he replied contemptuously. “I was long ago. Now either kill me or leave, but do not prolong the agony.”

I could not find it in me to kill him, so I strode over his prostrate body. For the first time, I saw that the room beyond the large antechamber where we had fought was full of wooden chests. My eyes gleamed at the thought of treasure, as I have never been able to resist the lure of copious amounts of money. I rushed towards them, ready to tear them open and fill my pockets with valuables. Just before I reached the nearest, my caution overtook me, and I called back to the orc.

“Are these chests spell-bound?” I asked him, failing to hold back the eagerness from my voice. “Not to my knowledge.” I glanced at him accusingly. “You may believe me, as what do I care if the great Demon-Lord loses a few trinkets? Just try not to let him find you with them on your person.” I rounded on him fully.

“Who is the Demon-Lord?” I said in shock.

“Who do you think he is?” he said sarcastically. “He’s the boss around here.”

“I was under the impression that the three magic-users ran the show. There was no mention of a Demon-Lord in the job description.” I told him bitterly. “A three headed Aziark is an Aziark which gets confused easily.”

I turned back to the chests, not quite as enthusiastic now.

“What’s in these?” I asked him.

“Mainly objects of crafted siiol. Some goblets, rings, plates, the usual types of stuff. Could even be a charmed artefact or two.”

Suddenly I felt a dizziness inside my head, forcing me to my knees. I felt the soft tones of the same voice which had called me during the fight with the Deodm.

“Human, I am sorry if this message causes you discomfort, but I must speak to you. Gursval senses my presence, and he tries to prevent me. Go to the third chest on the right.” I did as I was told, though I was barely able to walk. “Now touch the gem of your sword to the seal.”

I felt the familiar flow of power in the sword, and when it touched the seal there was a bright flash which dazzled me for a short time, but when everything became clear again I saw that the lid had swung open.

“Now. Inside this chest you must find a small ring of kient, with Ashnarorian runes inscribed upon it, and also a small wooden box with a dragon embossed in siiol upon it.”

I rummaged through the chest, disregarding many treasures which would have made me a rich man, until I found the objects. The ring I placed upon my finger and the box I tucked into the inside pocket of my jacket, as the voice ordered me.

“The ring will aid you when the matter of all endangers you, and the box you must use when all else seems to be no use.” I frowned in puzzlement. “More than this I cannot say.”

Can I know who it is who blesses me, I thought.

“‘Tis thy own Myerl,” came the reply. “Do you think I allow others to prevent me helping my champion?”

Then the feeling of dizziness was gone. I turned to where the orc had sat, but the rest of the room was empty. I had no time to dwell on this, so I rushed back through the wooden door and the weapons room, and then back down the stone-walled corridor until I came to a staircase.