“We must ride past the Waldr and over the mountains to reach the great mount, Sorg the ‘Dreaded Mountain’.” Ealhstan explained pointing across the Waldr River, having been traveling with them for three days now, with the enchanter far more light-hearted in nature than previously predicted. The old man’s manner was filled with forced cheer, his mud-stained robes far dirtier than when they first met him. Next to him traipsed Remus, who leapt, hopped and whined for his attention, having taken to the enchanter.

  Only Gwilherm and on occasion Vladin remained amused by the dog’s antics, as they were the most attached by this time, to the dog.

  “The Waldr, I have always longed to see this river,” Vladin murmured dreamily, as he studied the waters with an intent gleam in his eyes.

  “Why ever would you wish, to see this river?” Roparzh queried a hint of mockery in his voice.

  “My nanny told me many a tales of an old Dwarf by the name of Thurdin who fell in love with the spirit of the Waldr River, who carried him off to a under-water palace as he carried stones past here, for Lundrun.” The Dwarf informed him with what was still a fascinated glance. His previous terror of the dragon returning with a great deal of added anxiety, as he considered the fact that the wooden-bridge they drew up, next to was in even worse condition than the one they had used to cross over the Rhiaulwyd. “I may have always longed for this river; I cannot say however that I have ever wished to see the mountain of the dragon, not since he crossed into Estria from the north nigh on twenty-years ago.”

  The nanny of whom he spoke of was a mystery to the other travelers, with none entirely certain how his father and mother ever paid for anyone to take up such a task. However, what they did not know, was that the nanny was in truth a distant elderly aunt, with such duties in Dwarvish culture, often falling onto elders and distant relatives, who could no longer work themselves. In this way, all were guaranteed to contribute, with the young made to do all manner of physical work, and the elders all the teaching. It was partly this that was the reason, Dwarves were such knowledgeable folks, and such excellent craftsmen, with many considering toil a holy thing, so that they were often the leaders of mercantile and artisan guilds throughout all of North and South Agenor.

  This was a tale they all well-knew, for none in the land were unaware of the great terror that had swept across the Glacial Sea carrying with him fire, blood and sorrow. Such was the force of the sense of loss that all in Estria had been brought low. Commerce had ceased along with most travel in and out of Estria halted.

  Anxious to regain his lands Gwilherm wished to visit his old home with Vladin at once bobbing his head at this idea, with a wide smile, “I think it wise to seek them out to restock our food and change our two horses. Mayhap they will also know more there, than we regarding the situation herein Estria.”

  His proposal was one that greatly pleased the members of their group, notably Ealhstan who beamed with visible relief at the thought. “Oh excellent, a place where I may rest my feet and curl up near a fire would be lovely, do your people have honey and mulled wine Gwilherm?”

  “I know not,” He confessed miserably, “I have not been there in some time as I was sent away, when I was but a mere stripling.”

  “This will be impossible,” Galen muttered with his accent and peculiarly Neustrian pronunciation leaking into his voice so that the manner, in which he uttered his words, sounded strange to the ears of his companions. “We shan’t stop anywhere, as we have orders to ensure that Gwilherm performs his duty.”

  This reminder that he was intended for death, at the claws and flame of Balthrorth tore apart the good humour that had begun to infiltrate the heart of the warrior. A sigh escaped his lips, as he trudged alongside the horses, the skies darkening overhead.

  They remained darkened with thunder cracking and echoing throughout all the land of Estria as they crossed through it northwards, for the mountain where the dragon rested atop his hoard. A hoard ill-gained from all those who lived throughout the whole of the Lordly-Isle, treasure that included the inheritance Eadwin had received from their father Eadgar, with the former having intended to leave it to Gwilherm himself. The denial of his inheritance had always stuck with the young man, who would have otherwise liked to impart a proper dowry to his sister Elena, and to have avenged his brother, by slaying Morcar.

  “Do you know of Morcar?” He asked of the enchanter several days just before the rain began to fall, all about them, the day bright with Remus traipsing about and burrowing his nose into the rations much to the irritation of Gwilherm who chased him away, with an annoyed wave of his hand. Thinking this a game, the dog raced on over to him, only to race a little too close to his horse who snorted irritably also, not that the dog minded as he raced past with a huff and a cheeky grin.

  They had left the road once been built by the Romalians (not that there was almost any of it left of it, because of Balthrorth’s destruction of the roads), the ground being slick with mud and water. The route had curved upwards so that they traveled across forests and fields uphill, with the group of them having long since left behind any hint of farmlands. As Mt-Sorg was so greatly dreaded, none dared to venture thither, neither brigands nor peasants or warriors, with the wood near it of good quality, and largely untouched.

  “Aye.” Ealhstan affirmed eyes upon the darkened woods, his nostrils flared as he scratched at his elbow fearfully, “I do not much like how even the rodents and wolves dare not tread near here.”

  “What have you heard of him?”

  “Why do you ask?” Now the old man sounded utterly contemptuous of him.

  “I-” Here the youth had no goodly answer, only that he wished to dispel himself of all doubts and anxieties by distracting his mind from the present danger that haunted the whole of the Sorgwoods. “I simply wish to know my enemy, the one I will have to combat after I have slain Balthrorth.”

  At his words a snort was heard from all three of the others, with Vladin’s in particular echoing in the quiet of the rain which continued to patter atop the hoods of their cloaks, and soak them to the point of misery. None wished to tread for too much longer, though they had the desire to simply retreat one and all. Even the enchanter’s teeth were by this time clattering together for fear of the inevitable wrath of the dragon.

  It was thus agreed that they would try to find themselves a tree to duck under for the night, and to continue on the morrow in the morn’, with Ealhstan taking some time to answer the harpist’s question. “Morcar the Traitor many call him however others call him the ‘Reluctant’ for the reluctance with which he has agreed to the sacrifice of his daughters. I met him but once and I might well have dubbed him by another title, were it my decision rather than that of another.”

  “By what name would you know him?” Roparzh questioned swallowing his bit of mouldy cheese with some difficulty, eyes ablaze with nervousness and curiosity. He was more than a little annoyed, when Remus leapt over at his hand, having been waiting in the shadows behind him, so that he took the cheese in a single bite. This earned him a cry of frustration and anger from the knight, only for the dog to race away, tail in the air before he settled down next to the heir of Réalwaldr with a contented sigh, cheese between his paws as he tore into it.

  “Likely the ‘Black-heart’ Gwilherm sneered full of hatred for the man who had betrayed his brother.

  “I doubt very much, any should dub him so,” Vladin spoke suddenly having finished his own supper just as the warriors nodded their heads furiously full of hate for the treacherous lord who was one of the principal reasons, for their presence there.

  “Why ever not?” The question felt torn from the lips of the youth, who raised an angry brow at his oldest friend present herewith him.

  “Because any man who loses his children, as the saying goes amongst my people, merits not hatred or contempt but pity.” The Dwarf informed so softly.

  None of those surrounding him said a word, not to contradict nor support the view of the shortest member of their troop. Grinding his teeth together, Gwilherm felt so full of red-hot fury that he could hardly hear any further of the words of his companions, for he could not understand how anyone could pity his kinsman’s eternal foes. Not after all that they had done to the Réalwaldr, so great was his fury that he fell to brooding for some time before he at last uttered at his friend.

  “I doubt that he very much loved his children,” He told the other man.

  The Dwarf gave him an astonished if pitying glance, it was Ealhstan who spoke up to counter his complaint, “Oh young Gwilherm, who has never held a child or even a pup or kitten in his arms, you know not what you say. It is for their children that parents give up all, and give all unto.”

  Roparzh put an end to the argument preferring to remind them of the importance of sleep. “-We have a long day to-morrow, and could all use rest.”

  “What of watch-duties?” Vladin wondered shooting a consternated glance all about them, at the surrounding dark-woods.

  To which a small clatter of laughter arose from all about him, before they all settled in for sleep. Even the Dwarf looked embarrassed by the folly of his own question, given how unlikely it was that anything should sneak up on them. The only concern lay in the dragon, but as Ealhstan explained it, there was little a watch could do to save them from the beast given how dragons were the fastest flight-capable beasts alive. And that given the age of some of the oaks and ash-trees all about them, it was highly unlikely that Balthrorth was interested in burning down the woods. Quite why was a mystery to the good-brother of the King, not that he bothered to ask the others about this, so tired was he. The great fatigue that wore over him was such that not only did he forget his query instantly but from the moment he closed his eyes, he felt himself slip into the darkness of sleep. All that he felt in his dreams was the sound, from his childhood of Eadwin humming a tune, some sort of nursery rhyme that their mother had loved to sing to them. It brought a smile to the youth’s lips.

  *****

  The first thing that alerted Gwilherm to the fact that something was amiss was the sound of Vladin’s cursing and the sound of hooves striking the ground. Alarmed to full wakefulness, the alarmed warrior was on his feet in an instant sword almost in hand in a heartbeat. Where he was on his feet at once, Ealhstan and Remus slowly rose to consciousness, both blinking stupidly as they yawned.

  Kneeling in the filthy mud as one of the knights could be seen galloping back the way they had come, Vladin shook his fist at the departing figure’s back. At first neither Ealhstan nor Gwilherm could discern which of the two Neustrian-trained warriors it was; Galen or Roparzh. However it was not long before they could tell that it was the elder of the two. This realisation shook them as surely as it enraged the Dwarf.

  “Come back here, you filthy knave!” He yelled after the man, just as the knight disappeared from sight which was not very far given how the late night rain had transformed into early morning fog.

  Blinded by this mist the heroes stared for a long time after the departed Roparzh, struck dumb by his cowardice. All save for Vladin who of course continued to curse for some time- not only in the Brittian speech they all knew so well, but in his native tongue. The Dwarvish language he spoke in sounded both crude and jagged to the ears, of the unfamiliar Brittians.

  Only Ealhstan appeared shocked by his words, apparently having learnt the language in his travels, so that he paled at the sound of certain words that fell from his comrade’s lips. This flurry of cursing escalated when the man in question, noticed how muddied his hose had become and wiped furiously at the wool-cloth in a gesture that struck all as a particularly futile gesture. Especially given how much mud still clung to his clothing.

  “Do not tell me that you planned to do much the same, Doalkthwin!?” Vladin screamed in a fury at the frozen Galen who blinked at him, amazed by his disrespectful. The tone of his eyes made the newly awoke Remus anxious, as he whimpered and slid behind Gwilherm, to hide behind him whining noisily throughout the whole of the argument. So that the heart of the noble bled for him, as he patted his head in an attempt to comfort, the stricken pup.

  Ealhstan gasped at this last word, with Gwilherm unable to resist the temptation of asking him what it meant, with the enchanter shaking his head in response to the question. It took three promptings from the youthful noble, before he at last did as he was bidden and answered if rather more vaguely than how the younger of the two might have otherwise preferred. “I dare not repeat such a thing! O Gwilherm! It is not the sort of thing one may repeat. Even you might attempt such a thing, if you only knew the gravity of what he had just accused, the sir knight of!”

  Bewildered by this lack of a proper explanation, on the part of his friend, Gwilherm might well have reacted vociferously, but he could see that as Vladin panted Galen’s own wrath grew. The knight could understand well-enough that he had been insulted in some way. His honour impugned something which no man of any true note could very well tolerate, especially one of the Neustrian warriors sworn to iron-armed Aymon. “How dare you speak to him in such a manner, Dwarf, you may think me a knave and coward as Roparzh has just shown himself to be however I am no such thing myself! I am the noblest of all those, who have sworn themselves to Aymon! I gladly came into exile to this backwater place to serve him; at the request of my beloved liege éluan therefore you will grant me the utmost respect, o Dwarf!”

  “Not if you were the last of the smith-lords of olde!” Vladin spat referring to the ancient faith of the Dwarves one that many in the lands of North-Agenor had forgotten. This spoke to the century of life that he had borne witness to, and to the rumour that he had once travelled to the Dwarven colonies in South-Agenor. Colonies that had been abandoned millennia ago, when the Empire had fallen in the aftermath of the ‘War of the Jewels and Green-Skins’ with the ‘Smith-lords’ the first Dwarves taken in by Khnum and Prometheus and taught the art it is said of metal-working.

  “You dare to refer impugn my honour in such a manner, Vladin Builder?” The fury in his voice came close to choking them from escaping, from his mouth.

  “I dare and more-”

  “You cannot, Vladin!” Gwilherm shouted with such fury that his friend was struck dumb now once more, prepared to all but assist the knight in beating his friend. This in spite of his fury at Roparzh, for he may have despised the cowardice of the knight but this did not offend him near as much as such lack of piety on the part of his friend. “You know not what you say, in this moment!”

  “Mayhaps I do, far more than any here know, for how could we continue on this quest with one warrior less than when we began this adventure?” Vladin demanded impatiently of his friend, motioning to the elder knight with one hand, “For all your talk of bravery, shaming Gwilherm here for his cowardice, you have yet to demonstrate near as much valour as he has!”

  “Be silent knave!” Was the only warning he received from the human from Neustria before he stepped up to the non-human, to smite him with one mighty blow of his fist that sent him back off his feet, and near face-first into the mud he had just risen from.

  Spluttering and with his cheek already bruising, Vladin stared up in shock at the terrible Neustrian, who loomed over him just as Ealhstan pulled Gwilherm over to him, hissing as he did so. “You cannot let him do this!”

  “Do what?”

  “You must protect your friend, Gwilherm, I know not why you have not already hurried to his defence; however honour demands that as he has always stood by you, you must do so in turn.” The wise-words of the enchanter echoed for some time in his mind’s eye, as he considered this point and felt a deep sense of shame burn through his heart. How could he forget, in his anger all that the Dwarf had done for him? He asked himself, if Vladin might well have hesitated to aid him as he had just done, still though some of the anger within his soul continued to smoulder. He detested the reference to the ‘old-smiths’ of the Dwarves just as he detested the Arnish faith of the Northmen.

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  “Very well,” He grunted reluctantly, still rather hesitant if for a slightly different reason now that he had agreed to aid his friend; he was still afraid of Galen. A man physically stronger than he, or so Gwilherm thought and who had always appeared like all the bullies and courtiers at court, to loom over him. Almost shyly at first, when he spoke up his voice did not reach the ears of the Neustrian, but rather he spoke thence a second time, in a louder voice that sounded foreign to his own ears. So angry and thunderous did it sound that he felt tempted, to look about him in search of the man who had just spoken, just as Galen and Ealhstan did, their eyes falling upon him as they gaped. “Leave him be Galen! You will not lay another hand upon him, regardless his heresy!”

  “Quoi?” Galen uttered as he studied the other man, in dumb confusion a reaction that was likewise shared by Vladin.

  “Lo! At last some courage out of you,” Ealhstan cheered jovially hopping up and down once he had recovered from his shock, as he laughed at some length. Wagging a finger at Galen he reprimanded him for several minutes, “Now you see sieur Galen? You shan’t be bullying those lesser than yourself, less you awaken the fury of some great man than yourself!”

  Despite his anger Gwilherm truly wished the other man could have fallen silent rather than goading the other man, who continued to stare between them. Evidently confused and stupefied by what had possessed all those around him, to cause them to rise up against him. “What is this nonsense about an equal? You cannot mean Gwilherm here, who is infamous for his cowardice!”

  “Cowardice! Always that word, always that insult against my honour!” He shouted seized by a kind of madness that drew once more the stares of all those about him. Shaking and trembling, his fear, his sense of betrayal at the departure of Roparzh and outrage at Vladin’s heresy, all seemed to curl up and explode outwards in a ball of emotions that appeared to his mind’s eye as a terrible inferno. He might well have liked to otherwise take the time, to calm himself were he elsewhere, such as in the temple of his friend the druid of Auldchester, or at the King’s court in one of his many fine estates. However, he had no such fortune at that moment as he squawked at the other man. “How am I the coward, when it is a knight who has just fled? Does this not prove that any man, can be a coward?”

  “No, as it was merely our duty to escort you this far, to ensure that you do not flee, as you are ever so likely to decide to do,” Was the counter-argument one that served only to nettle the younger man still further.

  Later he was to deem this action the height of madness, the most foolish thing he had ever done in all his years. It was to prove an act, so utterly ridiculous that he later cursed his own folly and youth, for it was these qualities that pushed him to turn his heels and to begin stomping down the path towards Mt-Sorg. Doing so with a great cry over his shoulder, he in his rage believed this to be so, thus the belief only lasted for a short time, “Verily I shall prove to you and all of my good-brother’s people, Galen that it is not I the coward! And you shall return to court, to report that I demonstrated every ounce of bravery that Aymon or Léon might well have, had it been they upon this quest!” Then he added when he noticed Remus shaking, and looking prepared to bound after him, something that he could not allow, in the name of the love he bore the barely two year old pup. “Vladin hold him and do not allow him to follow me, for I would have Remus outlive me this day.”

  The Dwarf did as bidden and held Remus back, as the large half-mastiff yelped, wept and shrieked at being held back from him. His cries bringing manly tears to the eyes of the man restraining what he knew was a son, crying out to his father not to leave him, with the pup utterly destroyed by this terrible abandonment. Sensing the danger that lay up above their heads, inside of the mountain, the noblest of the King’s hounds sobbed brokenly, sobbed as Gwilherm had once done when he was separated from his own father, and then years later, when this event was repeated with him and his brother. This sound echoed deeply inside of the heart of the warrior, despite his rage as a part of him wished to turn back, if for no other reason than to reassure the canine, and to hold his head against his chest, as all men who love these noble-beasts wish to do when they are in pain.

  Staring for quite some time after him, none of the three he left behind him said or cried out anything after him. He later learnt that the first to recover was Vladin, who had laughed a little almost madly so, before he had regained his feet to hurry after him. But he (accompanied by Ealhstan) did not catch up to him for quite some time, for he did not advance slowly as was his previous wont on this quest. No, he was now determined to reach the great cavern where the dragon lay at rest the darkened skies loomed over all of the land of Estria, whilst the stench of brimstone and pine intermingled in his nostrils. The disgusting combination entirely the fault of the forest, and of the mountain with the brimstone stench overpowering the other the nearer he drew, to the resting place of Balthrorth, his mind hardly near there as it dwelt instead upon the past. Upon the humiliations did his spirit rest dwell upon and all he had endured, so that bitterness arose in his breast, bitterness against all those he knew in Auldchester.

  So gnarled and inward was his focus that he hardly noticed, his arrival before the small cleft in the mountain that served as a ‘road’ up it, and into the great and dark cavern. Nor did he noticed his own difficulties in scaling it, at least not at first, with it being a rock that saved him from misery when he tripped over it and nearly tumbled down twenty meters to the ground below him.

  Reminded of the importance of focusing his attention on the matter at hand, and not on his own internal complaints about his lot in life, and how unappreciated he was. Gwilherm turned now his attention to the route and to the stones that seemed to cover and pepper the upwards leading road. A sigh of despair escaped him, as he studied it as he felt a great deal of dislike for this path, not only would he have otherwise had to abandon any horse or pony he had brought with him. Climbing with greater care than before, he let his anger egg him forth still even as he strove to walk, climb and crawl up the side of the mountain with greater care.

  As he grew calmer, his thoughts were weighed down not by fury now, but by a combination of anxious uncertainty of whether he was going to soon hear the great roar that had haunted his nightmares, every night since he had set out from Auldchester. If it were not for his gauntlets, he might well have started to chew his nails so worried was he, however his smouldering anger towards Galen remained still, pushing him onwards farther than even he had expected.

  The great mountain Sorg, was the largest in Estria, and was part of a small chain of them, with this one laying the most south-west of them all. It was a dark thing jutting up out of the ground, with an air of unnaturalness to it and the dark composition of burnt ashes after a terrible fire. Proof that it was indeed the home, of the evil dragon who was the doom of all good men and fair maidens of Estria, with Ealhstan having spoken of how beautiful the mountain where Arndryck the Younger lived on the Continent, when he had discussed dragons a few days prior. The notion that dragons could conjure up beauty from anything, or somehow add it to the local wild-life and world boggled Gwilherm’s mind. For he could not imagine, anything more dreadful than the great wyrms created by the ancient ‘god’ (or what the Temple believed to be a demon) the Drago-Father, of whom all dragons know of and speak reverently (or fearfully) of.

  It was only as he swept up the road, around the side of the mountain so that he now stood along the east-face of the road that lay to the exterior of the cavern of Balthrorth. It was only thence that he could peek into the cavern, with the first response of the warrior being to stare in dumbfounded horror. It was at least twice to thrice the size of ?thelwulf’s castle in Auldchester, with the cavern so dark that the darkened skies the night prior appeared positively sun-soaked in comparison.

  Daunted beyond measure, Gwilherm studied the darkness hopeful that his eyes might well adjust however they did not appear to. Swallowing audibly, he studied the entrance and found that the lowest point was at about waist-height for him.

  “I must be brave,” He said to himself taking comfort in the sound of his own voice no matter how it trembled so, “I will not perish here. I must survive for Elena’s sake if no other.”

  The reminder of his sister, of how she had a duty to her and the grief she had shown at their parting, almost made him turn back rather than push forward into the cavern of the wyrm. Swallowing again, he jumped a little pressing his heads upon the lower-mouth of the cave, pulling himself up onto the cleft over the course of several minutes so that he was kneeling in the entrance of it. Huffing and puffing a little he pulled his legs up and was on his feet once again, mind awhirl with the realisation that he was soon to find himself face to face with his brother’s killer.

  The horror, the panic and somehow the exhilaration that came with this knowledge was more than he knew what to do with. He could not penetrate into his own soul, to discover why he felt such impatience to see the beast and attempt his hand at vengeance upon it, when he knew he could not possibly defeat it. It was similar to how Gwilherm could not discern through the darkness he now trod through, and yet the dark of Balthrorth’s heart was of a far more comforting nature than his own spirit was. For what man, enjoys plumbing the deeps of his own self in search of the darkest and most tenebrous corners of himself?

  “I do this for Elena… I do this for her; I do this for Elena…” He continued to repeat to himself over and over again, under his breath. Certain that it was all that kept him moving as he walked across the stony cavern, past the charred remains, armour, arms and bones of all those who had attempted before he to bring down the Dread of Estria. The army of bones that littered the floor crunched beneath his feet, with such repetition that where they had initially horrified him he now gave it little thought as he moved towards the corner of the darkened entrance ‘hall’. This ‘hall’ of a sorts appeared he realised to stand between the nest of Balthrorth and the mountain exterior which he had just left behind him.

  Around the corner there appeared a thin trail of light, or to be more exact the hint of light glittering off of the vast treasures that surely lay within. Treasures that Gwilherm could only have imagined, not that they were to be any great consolation as he was to die in the next few minutes, a certainty that only grew with each breath he took and step further inside. Notably when he heard his voice echo off the walls of the cavern, so that he had no doubt that the dragon would hear his voice.

  This made him squirm, as he felt horrified by how loudly his voice seemed to boom off the walls of the cavern. The gold and treasures did indeed glitter he noticed, very finely really and there was more treasure than he had originally envisioned, this stood out to him as did the near-mountain of treasure and gold that were so plentiful in the cavern before him that he could no more see the floor than he could turn back. He had never seen so much wealth, so much abundance as there were emeralds, ceruleans, rubies, and other gemstones and coin all about the cave. Staring from around a corner of the cave, he could see that to keep the jewels from overflowing outwards into the entrance, Balthrorth had dug deeper into the interior of the mountain so that there was a ten meter- no he realised; it had to be closer to fifteen meters deep! To fall from that height onto the gold would prove disastrous for a human, even if it was nothing to a dragon.

  The drop was one that he might otherwise have felt a burst of worry about, were it not for the simple rickety, rotted through wooden ladder off to one side. This pleased and relieved him, even as he asked of himself; ‘why would a dragon necessitate a ladder?’ it was a question that he was to learn later in his quest. For at that moment, he also murmured the name of his beloved sister, reminding himself that she was his only true ally and friend, and reason to live.

  “Yes?” He nearly missed a step climbing down the ladder, at the sudden sound of a female voice, from farther inside just as he climbed down the ladder looking about himself, his eyes settled upon a single point which was the only corner of the cave which lacked gold and jewels near it. Off to the western side of the cave from where he stood, Gwilherm could see three large poles dug into the ground with chains attached to them. With the poles being about his own height and ending in sudden, spiked summits. Attached to the three poles were three maidens all of whom had but eyes for him, something that alarmed and immediately made him draw nearer.

  For much as he feared death at the claws of the dragon, he knew his duty to be to rescue the trio of maidens. One was doubtlessly the daughter of a merchant or clergyman, one of a farmer and the last Morcar’s daughter. The difficulty lay in discerning at once which was which, as all three had been richly dressed in the finest wool Estria could gather with all three dressed in white as though they were prepared to be married rather than sacrificed.

  Glancing about the large cave as he drew nearer to them, he noticed how the dragon was absent. Something that was rather noticeable given how large and terrible it likely was, with this optimistic thought in his heart, he asked as he drew near to the ladies, “Where is the dragon?”

  His voice sounded louder than he had originally wished it to appear, with the three maids studying him with keen interest. One was dark-haired, slender, and green-eyed while being dressed in a dirty white robe, the next was thin as a rail with chestnut hair, similarly coloured eyes and had an aura of haughtiness which made him at once think she was Elena daughter of Morcar. As to the third lady, she was the youngest, what with how the first two appeared to be in about their seventeenth or eighteenth year she could not be any older than fourteen. She was the shortest (though not by much as the dark-haired lady was quite short), and had dark-blonde hair, a buck-toothed grin and a frantic if impatient air about her. Blonde with brown eyes, she struck Gwilherm as the most pitiable of the three, and he was reminded of his niece Mildred. One of the few of his sister’s children that he was truly fond of (though she was about six years old), and at that moment he determined to save these lasses regardless of the risk to his own life.

  “Hurry!” Pressed the youngest of the trio, her voice high and shrill not unlike that of a chipmunk, or so he imagined.

  “I need but a moment, milady,” Gwilherm retorted searching about their feet only to find bones and torn bits of cloth, the sight of both made him shudder a little.

  “Go away!” Snapped the long-faced chestnut haired girl, evidently displeased to see him and his fumbling attempts to save them, “And just where are, you looking?”

  “There is no key, sirrah the druid’s assistant took it with him when he left,” The dark-haired lady said guessing at his intentions, looking every bit as frightened as the other two ladies.

  In spite of this she attempted to put up a brave-face, something that immediately earned her the admiration if reluctantly so of the heir of Réalwaldr. As there was no key to assist him in the freeing of the trio of ladies, Gwilherm had no other choice but to study the chains.

  They were rusty-brown and a collection of circles that tied the three sacrifices’ wrists above their heads so that none of them could go very far. The links of the chains did not appear to be in particularly good condition, doubtlessly the locals had not reinforced them in some time, he guessed not with how rarely they visited. Or so Gwilherm guessed, as he removed his sword from his scabbard eyes on the iron of the first chain.

  Though she was the prettiest, he decided not to rescue the dark-hair girl chained to the central pole, much as he might have liked to rescue her first. He knew his duty, and that as the child the buck-toothed girl required rescue the most. Sucking in a breath, he ignored the angry squawks of chestnut hair and focused upon the young maid swiping as he did so with one mighty strike, at the chain-links.

  The iron to his glee shattered into pieces resulting in the young man ordering the young girl, “Fly, fly away from this place!”

  She did not need him to repeat his cry, as she swept away towards the cavern mouth, with the next girl he freed being the dark-haired woman who gave him a brilliant white smile that might have at any other time have sent his heart aflutter and made him feel flirtatious. However at that moment, all he did was slice at the iron once again, though this time the girl did not flee at once, even when pressed.

  “I shan’t leave without you, kind sirrah!” She replied to his urgings, her voice echoing with something in the back of Gwilherm’s mind telling him that this was not exactly the truth.

  Shaking his head, he turned to the last girl he had to free, with the girl shrieking at him, “No! No! Do not! Go away, I am a sacrifice!”

  “Why do you shriek and kick up at me so?” Gwilherm demanded furiously, as he resisted the urge to slap her quite thoroughly to knock some sense back into her, as his sister had once done to him when he was young and had refused to cross the Waldr river.

  “Because-”

  “Gwilherm! Hurry! Why do you tarry so by that girl, cut her chains and flee!” Vladin’s voice could be heard screaming, at the same time that there was the sound of Remus barking madly, from the corner of the cavern from when the Brittian had come from.

  Ordinarily the Dwarf might well have been smitten by the sight of such treasures and wealth all ripe for the plucking. However, his cry was followed by a great roar that shook the whole of the cavern, from top to bottom. Whereas the dog stood upon the precipice held back by the Dwarf, with one hand upon his collar, as best he could whilst the mutt resisted as best he could. Evidently keen to rejoin Gwilherm to fight by side against the monster that inhabited the huge cavern.

  So great was the fear that dominated them then that Gwilherm thought of nothing more than smashing the chain from the pole and taking flight now himself. The sound of air roaring and snap of wings echoed throughout the chamber, a clear signal that Balthrorth had returned. Full of cowardice, a greater sense of it than when he fled from the battle near the Cymran Marches, Gwilherm was by the ladder in an instant and pushing the dark-haired girl who had tarried but for a moment amongst the treasures until he grabbed her by the wrist.

  Pushing her up and out of the nest, he soon followed before he noticed there was something amiss, something that Vladin was swift to point out. “Wait! The girl! She is still there!”

  “We shan’t leave her here!” The dark-haired girl cried out full of worry and terror herself now.

  “It is too late,” Ealhstan said sorrow in his voice.

  “But-”

  “You have doomed us all!” Screamed the chestnut haired girl, who refused to budge from the pole, she had once been chained to. As she tarried there, she beat her chest with a fury that alarmed and frightened the warrior when he stopped to glance over his shoulder at her, divided between his fear and his unfinished task, “We are the chosen, we must be sacrificed and once we are, we will achieve Elysium! May the gods curse you to misery, failure and an early death!”

  The ensuing roar drowned out the rest of her words, with this being the moment that decided things for Gwilherm who had just stumbled as one of the steps of the ladder gave out beneath him. With the dark-haired lass and Ealhstan grabbing him to pull him up, just as the snap of the wings drew closer and the roar that followed frightened all into action.

  Pausing but briefly by the curve in the cavern, in time to see the end of the chestnut haired girl, as she was devoured whole by the terrible drake of Estria.

  This sight remained for some time with Gwilherm who regretted it to the end of his days; it was true that he had always been a bitter man. However, he had begun to take his duties seriously and begun to take pride in his abilities especially in those last moments, as he was freeing the three maidens. And yet, he had failed one and even earned the curse of one of them, this worried and plagued his conscious.

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