D&D 5E Tap Tap Tap

[Rylnethaz]

A couple of hours later and with their bellies full, everyone was adjusting to their new situation. The two elven swordsmen, stewards of the castle now, were thinking about organizing the defenses. Clotbert was trying to convince himself and even more so, he was trying to convince Fingers, that they were not dreaming. On the other side of the large table Rylnethaz and BoldItalic were having their last drinks for the night.

“So, you have a demiplane now, bent to your will.”

“It seems so, the dwarf led as to the right place.”

“I am pretty sure that not everyone has their own personal demiplane Rylnethaz.”

“Quite true, in fact I don’t think we are going to find anyone else in the foreseeable future. But you have forgotten one thing. A very important thing. You and I are not of this world. We have a spark of creation in us. Your way above average wisdom and intellectual capacity, my prowess in battle, my resolve, all come from this spark. Have you been here for so long that you have forgotten? Has this place dulled your gift? I doubt it. It was all blurry when I first found you in the cabin but our latest trials gave me a new focus. We might not be able to immediately affect the world, not counting my demiplane of course, but we are above and beyond average.”

BoldItalic started thinking on what Rylnethaz had said. “Well, the recent events certainly agree with you at least, I will drink to that! So, this is a stepping stone. But where will our next step be, can we even leave this place and return at will?”

“There are planar gates, that, I know.”

“But…?”

“But these are gates to other places, therefore beyond my immediate control. Which means that each time we need one, we have to find them in the hard way, the terrain would be morphing each time and there would surely be guardians about, at least most of the time. As for returning, we will have to find our way back again, unless we discover a more certain way. At the very least I will be able to sense it when there is be a way back in our immediate area. However, as always your concerns are well placed. We should soon try to work on a more reliable way to return here.”

“We don’t want to make it too easy for ourselves, now do we?”

“Wouldn’t hurt for a while, my most wise Vizier.”

“It wouldn’t but that is the stuff Coronals are made from.”

“Agreed. Let’s get some rest now BoldItalic, tomorrow we have to find the gate that will lead us to my sword, it will be north of here, although beyond a certain distance from the castle I will know not what we will encounter nor what the place will look like when we get there.”

“Besides, we have to help our friends adjust to this reality. Hey, Fingers, are you sure you don’t want to check your pockets again? The necklaces might have switched places now.”

Rylnethaz almost chocked on his wine when he saw Fingers' reaction to BoldItalic's joke. Even Clotbert cracked a smile.

 

[BoldItalic]

The next day, Fingers set out to explore the castle from top to bottom. Some parts of it were curiously unfinished, as if they were still waiting for the new owner to decide on the details. There were stairways that led nowhere and upstairs windows into spaces that could not be reached from any corridors. There were doors that were just two-dimensional and didn't really open and many of the chests and closets that he did try to open turned out to be just dummies. The nearest analogy that he could think of, was that the whole castle was like stage set in a theatre. He did find a genuine armoury, though, in the basement of one of the towers and he equipped himself with a fine shortbow and several quivers of arrows. He set up an archery target in the courtyard and practised hitting the bull from various distances, from ground level and high up in the battlements. Tharivol saw and was impressed. "Remind me not to fight against a regiment of halfling archers," he remarked wryly.

Clotbert found an antechamber just behind the main hall with a stone table on a raised dais opposite the door and a stack of rolled-up tapestries nearby, waiting to be hung. With the agreement of Rylnethaz he made the chamber into a shrine dedicated to Myrristra. He did not have much in the way of statuettes or icons to put up, but he placed a few things that he always carried with him on the stone table, so that it became an altar, and he spent some time reciting payers of blessing. BoldItalic gave him a pair of silver lamps that he conjured out of somewhere, to place on the altar as well. When Rylnethaz came along, he found the whole effect very calming and felt that he would like to come often and meditate in this place.

There was a stable-block in the courtyard and some fine horses waiting to be saddled. "I should employ a groom," mused Rylnethaz, "and other servants besides."

BoldItalic looked thoughtful. "There are no other people here in this land, but ourselves," he remarked.

"True, we have seen none so far," replied Rylnethaz, "But we should ride abroad. I have a feeling that there should be a town not an hour's ride north and a little east of here. Shall we mount up and venture forth?"

"By all means, but I would caution you to bring Clotbert and Fingers with us. If there is to be a town, their aid may be invaluable in dealing with its citizens."

The four set out, with Sir Rylnethaz riding on a fine, sturdy charger that answered to the name 'Mrrh' and the others found suitable mounts as well. The way was easy going and they picked up a trail after skirting a wood, that led them to a highway. A sign pointed north to a place called 'Overbridge', which they guessed would be a town, and gave the distance as "twa myles". A short time later, cresting a rise, they beheld a small town lying on the banks of a river, with a fine stone bridge on which a row of colourful market stalls had been set up.

​

 

[BoldItalic]

As they began to follow the road down towards the bridge, the ground erupted suddenly beneath their horses' hooves and their mounts screamed and bucked in panic. In an instant, both Clotbert and BoldItalic were thrown to the ground and winded.

Rylnethaz wheeled on Mrrh as Fingers leapt nimbly from his pony. Before their horrified gaze, a huge monstrosity rose from under the ground, looking for all the world like a lobster crossed with a mammoth; its mad eyes glittering red in the sunshine and clods of earth scattering from its many-clawed limbs. Fingers slashed at an armoured claw that came too close and cut cleanly through it at a joint. A dark blue sticky liquid sprayed from the severed end of the leg as it sought for purchase on the ground, finding none.

Drawing his sword, Rylnethaz fended off another claw with his shield, and struck high at one of the eye-stalks. The eye drooped and the light went from it but it was not enough. The beast had many more eyes and many more claws. One huge red claw, clacking shut within a hair's breadth of his head as he jerked back instinctively, continued its sideways swipe and knocked him clean out of the saddle.

BoldItalic sprang to his feet and aimed his staff at the creature's head. There was a keening sound and the monster suddenly relaxed, folded its limbs and lay still - all except a rhythmic twitching at the end of its tail. "Do not touch it!" he shouted. "It sleeps for but a moment! Move away before it wakes!"

They ran together up a slight hill and Mrrh followed his master but the other horses galloped away, scattering in panic. "Fingers," commanded Rylnethaz, "Ready that new bow you are carrying and on my command, start shooting at the creature as fast and as steadily as you can. BoldItalic, use you most damaging spell - fire or lightning as you will - at the same instant as Fingers' arrows begin to strike. Clotbert, aid them with your prayers. Does everyone understand? We must kill it quickly and suddenly before it recovers and comes after us."

Rylnethax raised his sword, then cried "NOW!". Arrows began to fly with dizzying rapidity from Fingers' bow and, as they struck the monster, it almost vanished in a ball of orange and green fire that roared from the wizard's outstretched hand.

It did not move again.

 

[BoldItalic]

The town of Overbridge was, reasonably enough, over the bridge. Rylnethaz noted that the town itself was surrounded by a wooden palisade that must have taken considerable resources to build, suggesting that dangers lay in the countryside around it; indeed, they had just encountered one of them in the form of a mammoth burrowing lobster.

There were gates at each end of the bridge that were presently open but guarded by soldiers who looked proficient. Clearly, this town was able to defend itself. As they approached the nearer gate, the were quite surprised when a trumpet sounded clear in the afternoon air. It must have been a signal, for the guards presented arms and, as one man, cried "Hail to the King!"

"I think they mean you," said BoldItalic quietly. "This is your kingdom, Sir Rylnethaz; play your part royally and we will back you up."

Through the gate as they neared it, they could see a crowd of townsfolk lining the way along the bridge and looking eagerly towards them. Some waved; others jostled for a better place. Small children were pushed to the front. As he rode past, Rylnethaz noticed a small, ragged girl holding up a toy doll; perhaps her only possession. He leaned down and blessed the girl with an elvish blessing then, very gravely, blessed her doll too as if it were real. The girl's eyes lit up with joy and the crowd went wild. A mother rushed forward to kiss the king's foot.

Passing through the second gate and riding along a wide cobbled street through more cheering crowds, King Rylnethaz reached the town square. There, a man who was clearly the mayor was waiting to receive him, accompanied by a small cluster of self-important looking aldermen. The mayor made a short speech and presented Rylnethaz with a set of keys, symbolising his dominion over the town. The king replied suitably and introduced BoldItalic, his vizier, and Clotbert, his arch-priest, as his trusted advisors.

Fingers seemed to be missing for the moment. He had stopped on the bridge to negotiate with a butcher who had set up his stall there, arranging a mutually agreeable price for the flesh of the ground-lobster. They estimated that the claws alone would provide a good feast for half the town. Not long afterwards, a ox-wagon trundled out of the gate and up to the hill where the monster's half-roasted corpse still lay. Meanwhile, Fingers followed the crowd towards the town square. On the way, he apprehended two pick-pockets who thought they were unobserved until they found Fingers at their elbows relieving them of their ill-gotten gains and whatever else they happened to have about them. They were allowed to escape with no more than a glare of warning from the halfling but the glare was enough; it was the kind of glare that said "Your face is known, brother". Fingers was setting himself up to be a power to be reckoned with amongst the lower orders in the town.

A priest stepped forward from the crowd around the mayor and greeted Clotbert cordially, as one to another, and an understanding passed between them. After the formalities were over, they went to the town's temple to discuss matters of mutual interest, such as the appropriateness of announcing a festival on the morrow to celebrate "King's Day" - a concept they simply invented to suit the occasion but which they felt was sure to appeal to the populace at large. A key part of the newly long-established tradition, they were firmly agreed, was to be the making, by the faithful townsfolk, of small donations to the temple to gain the blessings of the gods on the reign of the new king. To show that the gods approved, small cakes would be distributed and a select circle of especially pious townswomen would be allowed the privilege of baking them. The auguries were surprisingly good for this plan.

BoldItalic accompanied the king to a tedious meeting of the town council, chaired by the mayor. It emerged that the king would be expected to sit in judgement on a vexed case concerning the disputed inheritance of the town flour mill. The late miller, at his untimely death, left a widow and two sons. The elder son was his mother's favourite and she indulged him in all things; he was a profligate wastrel and took no interest in the miller's trade but had the prior claim to inherit the mill and his mother supported him in this. The second son, by contrast, had always worked hard and it was to his credit that the mill thrived; it was widely known that his father had often promised him the business.

Rylnethaz heard the case and listened to the competing claims. He turned to BoldItalic and asked his opinion. "This would be my advice," the wizard said. "Each son will mill as much flour as he can in half a day, unaided by assistants. We will observe to ensure that there is fair play. Whichever grinds the more, he is the miller that the town has most need of and thus will the king be best served." The king saw the wisdom of this and pronounced it as his judgement. The mayor and council nodded in approval; there was no doubt which son would succeed and it was in everyone's interest that businesses should thrive and hard work be rewarded. But the miller's widow was dismayed. "How shall I live?" she cried, thinking only of herself, "I am a poor widow and you would leave my doting son, who would support me in my old age, with nothing!"

"Be not affeared, good woman," said the king, "We will provide you and your eldest son with a living at our expense." The widow began to look pleased at this, expecting she would be getting something for nothing, but the king continued "We have need of a good cook at the castle. I will pay you a small wage and you can live next to the kitchens. It will be your own little domain and all I ask in return is that you prepare the finest fare fitting a king's table, every day." The widow's face fell at this. It was not what she imagined but she had no other option that she could see. "Thank you, my lord," was the best she could manage. "And of my son, who is penniless?" Rylnethaz was ready for this. "Why, he will be close by and supporting you, as is your fondest wish. He will be your pot-boy and, if he works hard and proves his worth, I will promote him to second cook."

 

[Rylnethaz]

“Are you sure that her son is going to be of any help?” BoldItalic expressed his doubts.

“Of course, his mother will make sure of it. If not for any other reason other than to convince everyone, including herself, that her favourite son is not as lazy as people say. A lazy favourite son is not the reality she has in mind. That much is perfectly clear when she speaks about him. She will never change what is in her mind however. She will either try to present a different reality by finding excuses for her son’s shortcomings or she will whip him to shape just to prove that her favourite…”

“She will whip her favourite into shape?” asked BoldItalic.

“Yes, the very same. She will hip him into shape just to prove that he is the better son. However, Fingers is also our man in charge of all matters culinary and he will take no excuses from her. He is also not one of the easily cowed villagers.”

“Fingers has never accepted anything less than perfection in culinary matters even when the resources are limited, let alone with a full pantry.”

“Exactly BoldItalic. We have a chain of a domineering woman, her absolute belief in her son’s perfection, a culinary perfectionist Fingers and a lazy son. There is exactly one weak link in this chain, the lazy son. She will whip him into shape.”

“Rylnethaz, now I almost feel pity for that guy.” Said BoldItalic barely holding back a laugh since they were still at the town hall.

Fingers, always the streetwise one, was sent by Rylnethaz to look for some of the other people that would be of help in the castle.

The next day there was a feast, using the giant ground-lobster’s meat and when the day after came, the party left the town.

They continued north. At some point the landscape began to change. Now they were walking amongst rotten trees, light mist clinging around their ankles and there were carrion eating vermin everywhere.

“I don’t know about you guys,” said Clotbert, “but this place seems so wrong and smells so bad that I think we are on the right track. What do you think Rylnethaz?”

"This must be the place, we will find the gate to where the sword can be found. Be on the alert for any guardians though."

 

[BoldItalic]

There was a strange smell in the air. Not just the smell of carrion but more the smell of carrion that had been partly cooked over a fire of damp, rotting logs. Fingers went scouting ahead, dodging between tumbled rocks and decaying tree trunks, blending into the landscape and making no sound. If Rylnethaz hadn't seen him go, he would scarcely have known he was even there. After a few minutes, Fingers came back and signalled, holding up three fingers of one hand and making a sign with the other meaning "goblins", then pointing vigorously back the way he had just been.

Rylnethaz understood. With care, they might be able to catch the goblins unawares if they approached quietly from downwind. He quickly decided on a pincer movement. He motioned Fingers to circle round to the left and use his bow, while BoldItalic was to circle round the other way and use his magic. He and Clotbert would advance quickly in a frontal assault, taking advantage of the terrain until the last moment.

As Rylnethaz broke cover and charged forwards, he saw before him three grey-skinned goblins gathered around a camp fire. A lump of meat, possibly half a deer, was smouldering on a crude spit above it but the fire was burning poorly and they were all three busy making attempts to fan the flames. Billows of greasy brown smoke wafted in the breeze towards Sir Rylnethaz and, despite his best efforts, he began to cough and splutter. Hearing this sudden and unexpected sound, the nearest goblin whirled around and drew a small sword from a scabbard on his belt, growling an oath in the gutteral tongue of such creatures. Rylnethaz matched the movement and prepared to square up to the challenge.

Suddenly, a streak of flame shot from somewhere among the boulders to the right and the hitherto fitfully-burning logs blazed up fiercely with a roar of incandescent blue-white flames. The light was so bright and the heat so intense that all three goblins instinctively leapt away from it. The one facing Rylnethaz realised his mistake too late, as he impaled himself on the point of the elf's blade. Their eyes meet briefly before he fell gurgling and writhing upon the ground, knowing that he was doomed. He gasped only one word with his dying breath. It was the goblin word for "sword".

The second goblin never really knew what hit him. In fact, it was two arrows from Fingers' bow that took him in the side of the head, piercing his skull and entering his brain so that he fell instantly unconscious and toppled sideways, right into the flames. He perished with a terrible shriek that hung in the air for minutes afterwards and lingered in Clotbert's nightmares for months. It was a horrible way for anything to die, even a goblin.

The third goblin was utterly dismayed and fell to his knees, clutching at the hem of Clotbert's robe and gibbering for mercy. He was spared. When BoldItalic arrived, he cast a spell that allowed him to interrogate the goblin in its own language. What the goblin revealed was this ...

 

[BoldItalic]

These goblins are scouts, sent to forage for food. There are more goblins - the whole tribe - waiting in caves to the north, starting to prepare defences. The boss is a fierce human clad in black armour who is cruel and hurts goblins for fun. He calls himself Fellgrim Onehand. He has a sword that talks to him and tells him what to do. All the goblins are afraid of the sword even more than they are afraid of the man. It killed their old leader who was called Y'rk and made them all come to this place. They came up a long, winding staircase from their old home and they can't go back because the sword won't let them.

"I see," said Rylnethaz after BoldItalic had relayed all this. "Clearly, I am destined to battle the black knight and wrest the sword from him. If the sword is evil or cannot be bent to my will, we must find a way to destroy it. Tell this goblin that we will spare his life if he will lead us to the caves and call on his tribe to let us through. We have no quarrel with them. If they will aid me in defeating the evil knight by doing this, I will break the power that the sword has over them and they can all return down the staircase to their home. I will give this goblin a purse of gold to share with his tribe, or not, as he chooses, if he can persuade his friends to step aside while I fight the evil man called Fellgrim Onehand."

This was relayed to the goblin who looked both frightened and hopeful at the same time. He spun on his heels and ran off, following a hardly-visible trail northwards. He might have been lost to sight except that he deliberately made a lot of noise and left plenty of scuffed footprints in the dust so that he would be easy to follow. The four heroes kept pace with him, but lagged a little behind to see what transpired.

After about a mile, a rocky escarpment came in sight that was barren but for a few stunted, gnarled trees and some patches of grey-green moss. The goblin ran behind an outcrop and into a hidden cave mouth, shouting as he ran. From somewhere inside, there came answering shouts and the sounds of something heavy being moved. Then all was quiet.

"What's the plan?" asked Fingers.

 

[Rylnethaz]

“Well”, Rylnethaz began, “he has a magic weapon, a sentient one if that goblin is to be believed. Hardly a fair fight. We have to even the odds.”

“You are looking for a fair fight with someone like that?” Fingers asked.

“Of course not, first we evne the odds and then we tilt the odds in our favour. And when I say tilt, I do not mean it slightly, I would be much happier with a complete overturning of odds,” Rylnethaz replied. A vicious smile spread wide across his face.

“Ah, now that begins to sound like a plan," tell me more” said Fingers in a happier tone.

“Now that we know their exact location,” Rylnethaz continued, “you can infiltrate through a less guarded way and make your way to the top of the cave system. From what we see from here it seems to be arranged in a circular pattern, forming an enclosure. What we can’t see from here but we just heard, must be some sort of gate or something like that. The goblin we just set free will probably manage to persuade a good number of the tribe to stay away from the fight and it will also try to keep the gate open but a lot more goblins will fight us out of fear. I will try to draw the warrior in combat in the open and keep him there. You will go up to the top, take out silently any guards there and then you will try to hit this Onehand fellow from unexpected angles while I am duelling him.”

“But Rylnethaz,” Clotbert asked, “what makes you think that he will agree to a duel and will not try to swarm you with a horde of goblins?”

“He won’t agree. You and I Clotbert will make sure of it,” BoldItalic interjected, “with spell, divine or arcane, mace and staff in hand.”

“Exactly. An onslaught of magical energies holding the masses at bay, while I am fighting Fellgrim Onehand with the added benefit of your strategic intervention. That pretty much summarizes the plan description,” Rylnethaz summed up, “any additions or suggestions from the Coronal’s High Court?”

 

[Rylnethaz]

“I only suggest that we move now,” BoldItalic said as he cast a protective spell, “before anyone starts questioning why the gate is still left open, otherwise we might have to form a siege plan instead of one of a quick strike.”

“A sound suggestion, let’s go! Fingers, start for the top, the rest, with me!”

Rylnethaz started down the path at a fast pace, BoldItalic and Clotbert in tow. A few meters down the path, they turned around to see a large crude wooden gate lifted with ropes. A gate that would otherwise block entrance to the enclosure that was straight ahead of them. The goblin, motivated by the hope of getting rid of Fellgrim Onehand had somehow persuaded its comrades not to close the gate immediately. Now it was too late. As the three goblins near the gate tried to stop the raiding party, they were quickly cut down. A forth sentry on a higher spot however sounded the alarm and goblins began rushing out of the caves.

However, the goblin scout had already managed to fast talk some of his immediate tribesmen into not taking part in any fight. It would be a one in a thousand chance to get rid of the tyrannical warrior it said. And the convinced had already started talking to everyone they thought they could talk out of the fight. This resulted in a not so enthusiastic reaction to the raid as Fellgrim Onehand would start to realize soon but wouldn’t be able to figure exactly why.

As the goblins rushed out of the caves to face the raiders, their ranks suddenly parted. A giant of a man stepped through, clad in furs and heavy metal plates, symbols of chaos etched and emblazoned on his armour, wearing a horned helmet and holding a sword in his right hand. The moniker Onehand was aptly chosen. Fellgrim Onehand had only one hand, the other was replaced by a tentacle ending in a talon, apparently a foul mutation.

Fingers had crept quietly to the top, taking full advantage of the commotion below. Only at the top did he find two sentries that he dispatched with ease, one getting a slit throat, the other getting an arrow to the back of the neck. Now he was overlooking the enclosure, waiting for everything to begin.

Fellgrim Onehand bellowed to the raiders, “who do you think you are and how did you get inside my domain?”

“This is my domain filthy mutant and you are holding my sword. Everything you own is mine and I am reclaiming them, including this tribe that I am setting free to return from whence they came.”

“You certainly know how to deliver a fight opener,” BoldItalic commented.

Fellgrim Onehand’s eyes bulged. “What? Insolent maggot, I will personally crush your skull. As for the sword, know that I took it from the cold hand of another elf such as you after I choked him to dead with my tentacle. That’s right, I even held him high so his feet would dangle left and right. And he looked tougher than you. Are you afraid yet, worm? I earned it, only dead would I leave the sword from my side, much less because a frail elf such as you asked for it. Well, are you wetting your pants yet?”

“That guy knows how to tempt fate,” Fingers thought as he started aligning his bow.

Fellgrim Onehand could believe the elf’s next words, actually one word, “Charge!”

Rylnethaz headed straight for the chaos warrior while BoldItalic and Clotbert immediately followed through, hurling spells left and right.

“And now it begins,” Fingers thought as he prepared to shoot an arrow on Fellgrim Onehand’s back.

 

[BoldItalic]

The sword spoke, its light flickering with the rhythm of its words. Its voice was high-pitched and shrill but easily understandable to Sir Rylnethaz, for it spoke to him in elvish. "So, mighty king, are you worthy to perish at my needle-sharp point? Sliced in twain by my ice-keen edge? Or will you master this sorry excuse for a warrior, whose only hand is but the hand of a minion? Claim me if you will!"

Sir Rylnethaz made no reply but flourished his own good sword and took a battle stance to meet his opponent, watching carefully. Two swords clashed and the fight began.

BoldItalic surmised that the black armour was enchanted and he cast another spell to divine its true nature. He saw in his mind that it was cursed; it was impervous to heat and fire but only while it maintained a bond with Fellgrim Onehand. If he ever took it off, it would become forever commonplace and he would suffer all the damage that it had ever absorbed in one mighty blast that would probably prove fatal. The man was trapped in his own steel shell and that was his weakness.

Sir Rylnethaz meanwhile traded blows with the warrior and, though both landed heavy strokes that would have killed a lesser man, neither was ready to yield. Clotbert began a hymn of healing, and directed its power at Sir Rylnethaz so that he was refreshed and able to fight on.

Four goblins, who had sought to outflank Sir Rylnethaz, fell to arrows from Finger's bow. No goblin could reach him to stem the withering fire, for Fingers had now cunningly placed himself high up over the cave mouth behind a low parapet of boulders. Seeing this, no more goblins made the attempt.

BoldItalic whispered into his staff and cast his words into the mind of Sir Rynethaz who was even now blocking with his red shield. The magic sword was dancing in its wielder's hand and all the time insulting the elf in its reedy voice. BoldItalic bade Sir Rylnethaz to try to knock away the black armour, piece by piece, rather than trying to harm his opponent directly with sword cuts. It would not be easy, for the straps were well-covered, but if the armour could be disrupted, there was a chance that the battle would end in the king's favour.

Fellgrim meanwhile felt he was sure to gain the upper hand, for he had never been defeated since he acquired this sword. It seemed to anticipate every move his opponents made and told him what counter-moves to make so that he always had the better of every fight. But he had reckoned without Clotbert, who called upon Myrristra and brought down a globe of silence around the battling pair. It was a risky thing to do, for it meant that BoldItalic could no longer whisper advice to Sir Rylnethaz, but it dismayed Fellgrim the more, for the sword could no longer guide his tactics. He had to fall back on his own abilities, which had never been as great as he would have wished; for he had grown lazy of late, relying on the sword to do his thinking, and not honed his fighting skills as he should.

Rylnethaz soon noticed that his opponent's swordstrokes lacked co-ordination and was able to turn them aside, landing slash after slash on the straps of the black breastplate. Little by little, he whittled them away until he risked all on one powerful stroke, leaving himself open to a heavy cut on his shield arm. In an instant, the straps gave way and the breastplate fell to the ground. There was a silent flash of red, gold and blue light, lethal in its intensity, and Fellgrim crumpled up dead on the ground at the feet of the victorious elf. The wicked sword fell from its owner's grasp and lay inert beside him.

The divine silence ended and the piping voice of the talking sword was heard again from where it lay on the barren ground. It was like the voice of a sycophant, praising the red knight and complimenting him on his victory. "You are a worthy elf indeed! A sword would be honoured to serve in your hand! Take me up and we will go forward together to many more victories!" But Sir Rynethaz kicked it away, for he had seen what it did to its erstwhile owner. Besides, he had more pressing concerns. His shield arm was broken.

Clotbert took him aside and treated his injuries on the spot, calling on his goddess to heal the arm. "It will be sore for a week, but it will mend," he reassured the elf as he improvised a sling.

Meanwhile, Fingers had rejoined them, scrambling down from his vantage point. He went with BoldItalic into the caves and found the goblins. "Go home," the wizard told them. "The power of the sword is broken and the black knight is fallen. You can descend the staircase and return to your homelands." Then he gave a purse of gold to the one whom they had earlier bargained with, as had been promised. With that, the goblins departed gratefully and troubled the kingdom no more.

The king called his vizier to him and asked what should be done about the sword. BoldItalic thought for a moment, then said "It is evil. I believe that the hilt is possessed by a demon that seeks to bend the wielder to its will. We cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands again." Then he took off his cloak, folded it lengthwise and wrapped the sword in it so that its fell voice was reduced to a muffled squeak. He bound it with many cords, knotted with many cunning knots and cast a spell such that they could not be untied save at his command. "I will take care of it," he said. "I fancy that if we plunge it into the heart of one of the chaos engines, the ones attended by the yellow-clad gnomes, not only will the engine be wrecked but the demon of the sword will be drawn instantly back to the abyss where it belongs. I know of no other way that it can be unmade."

"But I am forgetting something," BoldItalic continued, "In the cave where Fellgrim had made his bed, there was a chest that looked too sturdy to be of goblin make. Let us see what it contains. It may give a clue as to the origin of the sword."

There was indeed such a chest, and it was a matter of moments for Fingers to spring the locks and have it open. In it, they found treasures almost beyond counting that Fellgrim had looted from his long line of victims in the past. Not least of them was another sword, wrapped in a red velvet cloth, that Rylnethaz took up with reverence. "Now this sword is holy indeed," he declared. "Little wonder that Fellgrim could not use it, but I shall. I take it for my own."

"There is gold here, to swell your castle's coffers," remarked Clotbert, somewhat to Finger's dismay who had thought to pocket some for himself, but a pouch a diamonds satisfied him in its stead and was, after all, easier to carry and conceal about his person. "And what is this?" cried Clotbert as he unwrapped a heavy object from a white silk cover. "By all that is holy! This is a figure of Myrristra! She truly gives us her blessing for our work this day. It shall have pride of place upon the altar in the shrine that we have made for her."

"Careful with those scrolls," warned BoldItalic, as the others pored over the treasures in their eagerness. "They may repay careful study. I will keep them safe until we return home to the castle."