Broldek sniffled. “What is the Gauntlet?”
“Gorgoldand’s Gauntlet,” Kizzlorn replied. “Dartan told me about it. It was the first adventure of the original Knights, years and years ago. Before even Vek or my parents joined them.”
“Before even WE joined them,” Myramus added.
“Still, though… what is the Gauntlet?”
Snooky’s voice spoke in their minds as he walked towards them. His soft black feet parted the grass, and he looked up at them. My master’s creation was a plaything. A proving grounds for training adventurers.
“How dangerous is it?”
It’s not… not really. It tests a fledgling hero’s ability without putting him in great peril. Bumps and scratches is the worst you might come to if you were very unlucky. It will be heavily modified, to challenge your current abilities.
“Wait, wait,” Edge said. “Crow only recently came back to existence, am I correct? How did he ever find the time to renovate and redesign and entire dungeon?”
He’s had years. The small cat blinked at them all. He’s been planning this since Jamison turned evil, long ago. He’d been at work on it for years when he was cleansed of his evil. Being good was only a roadbump in his plan. It’s all so clear now… He’s really going to do it. He’s going to make it work.
“No. Maybe.” Kizzlorn said as she scooped the cat into her arms. “We won’t see it either way, as we’ll either stop him… or die trying. Let’s get moving, we haven’t any time to waste.”
The group moved inside. Snooky “talked” as they moved. We’ve never faced Crow. Not really. Based on what we know, he’s more powerful than any of us. This dungeon will be deadly.
“Not too deadly,” Broldek said. They entered Spellforge Keep’s armory. “He wants us to get to the end… and then die. It’ll be merely hellishly challenging, I’ll warrant.”
Menerous clapped Broldek on the back, laughing. “Hey, you’re pretty bright, for a troll.”
“Thank you.” Broldek clapped pieces of his shadow armor onto his bulging, greenish arms. He strapped Dragonhammer’s scabbard around his back and tested its sharpness by dragging it across his chest. “Ahhh,” he growled as thick black blood oozed from him. The deep wound quickly closed up, scabbed, scarred, then disappeared. “Nice and sharp.” He sheathed his greatsword. “I’m ready.”
Myramus and Menerous had descended from heaven with armor and weapons primed for war on the coming darkness. They look at each other, nodded, and bumped fists together. “We’re ready.”
“How many times have we saved the world, now?” Edge asked. He tightened his belt and cracked his knuckles. He flexed both of his hands, opening them fully, extending the fingers, then rolling them into tight fists. His small, lithe body bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as he tested his balance. “I’m ready.”
Kizzlorn was examining wands and placing them into her hip pouch. “We haven’t saved the world at all. We’ve done several things to slow down the coming doom, but in the end… my parents saved the world. We haven’t. Not yet. The same end is rolling towards us, and it’s still as dangerous as it ever was. Our tiny victories haven’t stopped it.” She paused, then saw Shade’s old vorpal sword leaning against a sword rack. She picked it up and strapped its belt around her waist. So I’ll have a piece of you with me, she thought. The weight of the sword felt good. It wasn’t like having Shade standing beside her once more, but there was comfort in knowing it was there. “I’m ready. Would someone call Dartan?”
“I’m here.” Standing in the doorway was Dartan’s massive, armored frame. His eyes were pinkly rimmed, but his face was carved of the meanest stone ever cut from the ground. His dour face was a mask of anger and bitterness. He was holding his sword.
“Dartan,” Menerous said. “Are you well?”
“No.”
“What did the letter say?”
“That,” the warrior hissed, “Is none of your damned business.” He flicked a finger against his sword’s steel and listened to it ring cleanly. The notched blade glinted in the light. “It is time for war. I’m ready.” He sheathed the sword. “Let’s go.”
They teleported away.
In their wake, the armory lay still once more. Moments passed. Then, a huge figure stepped inside. Behind it followed a smaller one. “This bad idea,” Meepo said nervously.
“You stay in the kitchen and cook if you want, stupid,” Grumbar growled. “Something big is going on out there. Bad things are happening tonight. I may be a master chef, but I know when it’s time to beat the plowshare back into a sword. I’m going out to fight.”
“Meepo make nice,” Meepo muttered. “All Meepo saying is that the bad things being handled, right? Mistress Kizzlorn most strong!”
“Yes… but there are hundreds of titans rising if Thuriaq is freed. If Crow pulls this off… all the heroes in the world will fight for their lives this night. Every sword is needed.” Grumbar picked up his trusty old sword and blew the dust off its hilt. He rotated it, and his wrist reacted to the sword’s weight with familiar, practiced ease. “The world is worth fighting for.”
Meepo cast his eyes down sadly. “Meepo sad, but what Meepo can do? Meepo small. Weak. Meepo no can even destroy castle with force of mighty kobold army.”
Grumbar knelt and placed a hand on Meepo’s frail shoulder. In his other hand was a small sword, held hilt out. “We can try, my friend.”
Meepo looked up at him, shivering. His hand reached out and closed around the sword’s hilt. “Meepo will try.”
Grumbar smiled. “I knew you would. Against the two of us, the monsters won’t stand a chance.”
“Three, you mean,” came a voice at the door. Horacio the chef walked inside. He took his white chef’s hat from his head and threw it to the ground. “I weel fight weeth you.” He put on a helmet and picked up a large, one-sided battleaxe with a lengthwise head. It most resembled a very large meat cleaver.
“Horacio!” Grumbar exclaimed with glee. “Can you fight?”
“No, but I can preetend that I am choppeeng broccolee.” He laughed.
“This broccoli chops back. Are you sure?”
“You are thee worst cook I have ever known, Grumbar… but you have a good heart… and you are right. Thee world ees worth fighting for.”
The would-be heroes armored themselves. Meepo wore a small saucepan on his head, as no helm would fit. He called Scratch to him. The small silver dragon scrabbled up into his arms. The four of them stole out into the darkening afternoon to find whatever fate lay before them.
MORE TO COME…
