Galin was back in his house. It was more of a mansion than a house. To be specific, he was in his hidden, extensive cellar where he kept almost all of his riches. Michael, who had never been down here, was in awe. He stared at the piles of coins, the mountains of jewelry, and the stacks of art, be they sculptures, paintings, or other such works. And there was still more to be seen.
“How did you amass all this?” he asked, eyes still wide. “I knew you said you were wealthy, but this? I never imagined. . .” He trailed off, spinning as he tried to take it all in.
“My dragon business,” Galin replied grimly. He would have been much more cheerful and self congratulatory if Anya had been down here at his side. He muttered something under his breath, then resumed. “Not just that, but being a lord comes with its benefits. I get gifts and tributes and, well, you’ve been with me.”
“Master Galin,” Michael said, handing him something wrapped in linen. “Take this.”
“Eh?” Galin said, unwrapping it. Inside the linen were two small braces, ones that would fit Michael, but would be too small for him.
“They’ll fit you,” Michael assured him, reading the doubt-filled face Galin was making. “They would have fit a giant when I stumbled across them, but they appeared to shrink when I held them.” Galin had to admit that now they looked to be the perfect size for him.
“Why these?” he asked, putting them on.
“Well, you see, when you have sent me to preform . . . ‘tasks’ for you, I’ve ran into a bit of trouble. One time an arrow seemed to just slightly curve and miss me. And a dagger that was thrown at me, and should have pierced my neck, only scratched my shoulder. They’re magic, I’m sure of it. And take this.” He offered Galin another linen wrapped item. This time it was long and thin.
“What is this?” Galin unwrapped the arrow.
“It’s a dragon slayer’s arrow. It’s an educated guess; I’ve done my research.” Michael gave a wry grin. “What makes me think it is, is that the arrow head is made from a dragon’s scale and it’s shaft is made from bone, most likely a dragon’s. Should you run into a dragon, this will surely help you.”
Galin put it in the quiver at his back. “Thank you Michael,” he said. “Now, run along and go tell Rosie, you’ve given me enough, I’ll choose the rest.” He finally mustered the strength to give a genuine smile, and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder.
Michael ran off, leaving Galin alone. He already had a leather jerkin on, and had his favorite bow and quiver at his back. Thinking it would be prudent, he took a file along with some other tools coveted by thieves and burglars which he stored down here. He looked around, for his sword which was the real reason he was down here. It could cut through most anything. Having found it, he put on the cloak he had been holding and returned to the entry.
There was Rosie, white faced and dressed in her nightgown. Galin had forgotten just how late it was, or early. It depended on how you looked at it. The moon shone in through the doorway, bathing Rosie in a gentle glow. They heard the hoot of an owl and Galin was sure everything would be okay. If it was for animals, then it would be for him.
“Master Galin,” she said, kissing him on the forehead as she might an uncle. “I prepared some food for you.” Galin took the pack and kissed her hand. Once he was outside, he called Michael to him.
“Yes?” Michael asked.
Galin gave him the pouch from the messenger. “Use the coins to repair the room. And keep the gemstones, maybe give them to Rosie. Maybe have a ring made.” Galin winked and set off. He knew how they felt for each other, despite what they said to the contrary. Inside the bag had been more than enough coins, and about a score of priceless gemstones. Obviously it had been a bribe. One that said you have something, no need to bother us or yourself. Take it and go. And one that Galin intended to ignore.
Before he set out, Galin went to the temple to pay his respects to Lalm, the goddess of good fortune. He prayed for safety and success in his journey, leaving half of the gemstones as an offering. Once he had said his final prayers, sure that they were heard, he left Goldwood in the direction of the mines.
It was well into the early morning, and Galin had slept only a couple of hours before Michael had frantically woke him up, but he felt invigorated and no need to sleep. The trees and shrubbery around him passed by in the midnight blackness. Little did he see and little did he hear save for his footsteps and the occasional cricket. The moon continued to shine her light, but still the stars did not show their tiny, soft faces.
Near light, Galin decided he had best rest a few hours, though he did not want to. Finding a small hollow, he lay down and slept. His dreams were untroubled, and he remembered nothing of them.
Not long after the sun had begun to rise, he was woken by nearby voices. Galin had sharp hearing, and had listen through enough doors that listening to these men would prove no trouble.
“Next time, check before letting your arrow loose,” one was berating another. “We don’t need another old woman dead. Not that she had any use.”
“I’ll bet no one will even miss her,” a second said. “Besides, we were ordered to fire upon anyone in sight and bring them back. Thalminn has no use for an old woman, like you said.”
Galin estimated there to be about four men. Was this Thalminn the one he was looking for? He wasn’t sure. He was about to make his move when a third spoke.
“Remember what our master told us? It doesn’t matter who gets killed, this is for something greater. We cannot allow this Galin to get through. ” Galin frowned. They were looking for him specifically. This was not good. The man went on. “So what if some old woman was killed? We need to be thinking of the greater things, of the ends which will be met when the ritual is finished.”
“By greater things do you perchance mean the pay?” the first snorted, slapping his thigh.
All of them laughed. Then the third continued. “And so what if that’s what I care about? It’s enough I don’t care how many old hags meet their end. In fact, I’d hunt ‘em down if I was told too.”
Galin had heard enough to know he should be making himself scarce, as well as that these men and this Thalminn were linked to the abduction of Anya. Could it be that Thalminn was the one Michael had heard talking in Anya’s room? Galin didn’t know the answer to this.
He also had other unanswered questions. For one, why was Anya the one sent after him? He had had his one for a while. This man who hired her obviously knew who he was, so he would have known what he was capable of. And what he had seen of Anya when she escaped the ghouls on their first meeting had been bugging him. She was no master. She was barely an amateur. It had been luck, not skill, that got Anya through the graveyard. So why was someone sent to steal something from him? It didn’t make sense. It was almost as if she had been sent to fail on purpose. His frown deepened.
Just then, a fifth man who had been away from the others, was coming back behind Galin. Galin saw his shadow, and had just enough time to dodge the swing that would have decapitated him. His assailant started shouting for his comrades, but there was no need, they had already heard the commotion.
Galin rolled into a standing position and dived for his sword, bringing it up in time to deflect two more swings that would have also relieved him of his head. Rolling away, trying hard not to cut himself, he stood up, and lunged, catching one of them off guard. Pulling his sword back, Galin let the man fall to the ground, his blood mixing with the dirt, making it slick.
Three were now hounding him in while the fourth stood at a distance, waiting with a bow for the perfect opening to skewer Galin. Galin intended to give him no such opening. Summersaulting through two of them, he managed to put all three between him and the archer. Using their surprise to his advantage, he wasn’t known just for his wealth but also his prowess and quickness, he struck one of the men down with a single blow. Three against one was much better than five.
An arrow came whistling past his head. They must be desperate if he was firing an arrow that close to his comrades. Or, Galin thought grimly, he had a good aim, and wasn’t worried that he would hit a comrade. Galin wasn’t sure which was the case.
His hesitation made one of the two strike. He had just enough time to evade his assailant, then riposte, slaying the man on the spot. Two left. Galin was confident, not cocky, but confident. He ducked another arrow, rolling to get to a more advantageous position.
The remaining man in front of him lunged. This time Galin was not so lucky and slipped on the bloody ground. The man laughed, and the raised his sword for a killing blow to finish off the wounded Galin. However, Galin was not as wounded as the man thought. His left arm had just barely been grazed. It hurt, but it could still be used. He kicked out, catching the man in the knee. His opponent cried out, and Galin swept his own sword in a deadly arc.
The man and his head fell to the ground as Galin sped towards the final man. To give him credit, the man did not run, but managed to fire two arrows at Galin before drawing a dirk and closing in. Galin accepted the challenge with roguish smile.
Intending not kill the man but stun him, he dodged low then brought the hilt of his sword up. The final adversary crumpled under that blow. In all, the battle had not taken two minutes.
Smiling with satisfaction, Galin sat down on a log, took a bowl, and filled it with broth which the men had been cooking. It was good, they deserved credit for this. He mused while eating that they should have been cooks, not mercenaries. He took some meat from the pack that Rosie had made up and sprinkled it in. It was even better. Perhaps Galin was not only a skilled, intelligent swordsman, and thief, but also a cook. He was just finishing his bowl, and wondering what he might also be capable of, when the unconscious man began to stir.
“Ah, awake I see?” Galin said, squatting in front of the sore man, his green dagger held barely an inch from the mercenary’s throat. “Who hired you?”
“You’re Galin?” the man asked, nervous.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Galin said. “Many stories are told about me. Most are exaggerations, but even then, the exaggerations are more believable.”
“I thought you were an old man,” the man stammered, backing away from the blade at his throat.
“I am,” Galin chuckled. “And I am not. Now, your name, my—I would say good man, but I don’t know if that would be right.”
“Roddrick,” he replied, shaking.
“Okay Roddrick, who hired you. Why are you waiting for me specifically.”
“We were ordered to. We didn’t know who hired us. There are others all waiting around for you. He didn’t tell us. He just said it was likely you were coming, and to be prepared. It didn’t matter who died, just so long as you did. I’m telling the truth, I swear.” Regardless of the sword, he flung himself down and started begging for Galin to spare him.
Disgusted with the man, Galin turned and gathered his stuff. He then continued to the mines, hoping to get there before nightfall. He would have to go at a demanding pace if he intended to get there by that time, but he knew he could do it. At least he now knew what he’d be up against, well, up until the mines, that is. Evading them wouldn’t be hard.
The man had either been lying, or had had second thoughts, for Galin heard a crack, a swear, then a swish behind him. Rolling his eyes, he ducked once more, gave a sigh, then slew the man. Letting him topple over, he turned and began to pelt onward. Before leaving, he had said a quick prayer to Per, the god of life and light, for their souls. He would send someone out later to bury them, but for now, he had to get a move on if he wanted to have any chance to save Anya.
Galin ran for most of the day, having kept himself in good shape. Knowing the lay of the land quite well, or at least having seen some from a distance at a height, and having a notable memory, Galin was able to know where would be the best spots to waylay travelers stupid enough to get this close to the mines, and avoid them. He saw several mercenaries waiting for him, but he didn’t show himself, not wanting to kill anyone unnecessarily, and not wanting to waste time either.
Tress went by to either side. At one point, Galin passed a shimmering lake, and he wanted to dive in and refresh himself, but he reminded himself that a life was on the line. He told himself he’d do it sometime. Birds chirped and more than once he heard the sound of trickling water. The smell of fallen leaves was pleasant, and those colored ones remaining on the tress were beautiful. The golden tress that gave Goldwood it’s name had been left behind a couple hours after leaving. An old stone tower, half fallen, stood to one side of the lake. Galin had not seen this before, and wondered what sort of people had lived there.
It was night again once Galin reached the hills where the mines were. Despite his boasts earlier, he knew that this was indeed a dangerous place. He had meant what he said about daring what others didn’t dare to do, but that was only part of it. The other part was that he took cautions that others wouldn’t. He was careful where other’s weren’t and he was more skilled than other people, despite his young age.
He knew that these hills would be filled with unsavory people and things, none of which he’d like to meet. Mercenaries would be the least of his concerns. He then spotted a group of goblins creeping furtively along. He briefly considered joining them, but decided against it. They were going in the wrong direction, and anyway, they could also be tasked with hunting him down.
The hills were barren and empty. Little grew there but grass and low, scanty bushes. The remains of old stone buildings from forgotten owners lay scattered all about. The petrified trunks of old trees stood like pillars, hidden among the folds of the hills.
As he crept from hill to hill, a foul stench began to grow. Before long, it was overpowering and Galin wanted to throw up. Rounding the corner of the remains of another stone building, he found the source of the smell. It was the rat-gnawed remains of three mercenaries and their horses. They weren’t fresh either. Covering his nose and mouth, Galin walked away, whispering another prayer to Per. As he left them behind, Galin wondered just how long this man had been preparing this. He began to have doubts that this had all been because she had failed to get the dagger.
Then he saw the entrance to the mines. He had been here once before, but had not entered far, having come only out of curiosity. The entrance was a great cave, half natural and half carved. Inside, it sloped down at an angle for several hundred feet, branching off in dozens of tunnels, then finally stopping, where it dropped vertically, with several stairs and tunnels around to serve as a means of passage down. He darted through the shadows, and was soon looking down the giant pit. There was said to be a warren of tunnels, and chambers, and halls down there, but no one knew what was really down there since no one had come out alive. Galin wondered for the first time if he ought to be scared of getting lost. He dismissed it instantly; he never got lost, thanks to his memory.
As he was descending the tunnels around the central shaft, he saw a goblin. The goblin saw him. They stood there a moment, both waiting for the other to make a move. It was about two and a half feet tall, with sand colored skin, and long, pointed ears that stuck out like sails. Galin went first, like he liked to do. He always liked being first. This was probably the reason he won most small scuffles quickly—he made his move before anyone could react.
“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands. “If you forget you saw me, I’d forget I saw you, and I’d call it even.”
“Fat chance of that,” the goblin rasped with an evil smile. “I’m going to stick you right were you stand.”
“Tsk tsk,” Galin said, darting forward. “Telling me what you are going to do? That’s going to get you nowhere.”
“Oh is it?” The goblin laughed, letting loose his arrow. To the goblin’s credit, he was surprisingly fast. Galin had no time to react as the arrow sped towards his demise. However, just as it was about to go through his forehead, it swerved to the right and grazed the side of his head. He suddenly remembered what Michael had said about the bracers. Promising himself that he would make Michael a king someday, and Galin knew he’d be able to do that, he rushed the goblin with a smug grin.
The goblin, Galin later learned his name was Rishk, stared at him open mouthed. Galin used this stupidity to close the distance and, not wanting to kill an opponent who was unarmed—the goblin’s bow had dropped to the ground—slammed his hilt in the side of the goblin’s head. Galin scribbled a quick note which told the goblin not to say anything, otherwise the other’s would know that a stupid human had gotten the better of him.
He reached the bottom, and came into a large chamber that could have fit half of Goldwood in it, lit by a gargantuan fire in the middle. A giant mound of rubble the size of three houses was off to the side. There were scores of passages off to the sides, but Galin knew at once which one to take by the skull engravings around it.
Then he heard the breathing. And he knew what the mound was. And he also knew why no one ever came out of this mine alive. He wasn’t sure how he’d get through this one alive.
“Dragon,” he whispered, looking straight into the face of the ancient beast.
The end for now . . .
Stay tuned for part three next week. Word count, 3,291. Overall total, 4,992 I believe.
If you have not read part one of Into the Mines, you can here.
If you wish to read the ‘prologue,’ Alone in the Graveyard, for Into the Mines, you can here.
God bless!