Tad tipped toward the Dread Lord. Mid-fall, he jammed his thumb against the Eggfinity in his right hand. Then his skin hardened and drained of color. With his left arm cocked back, the Wraith’s Edge wielded in his frozen hand, the statue landed and struck the dread lord. It would be a heroic moment, were the boy’s face twisted by fright rather than fixed from bravery.

Red cracks broke across the wraith’s obsidian skin where the dagger tore into it. Magical energy spilled out in rivulets that scorched the carpet and then faded with a hiss. Tad was consumed. Ayara cried out “Tad!” but a moment later the statue stood unharmed, although all its frayed, stained clothes were gone.

The Dread Lord thrashed desperately and sprouted arms to pry out the weapon. They screamed when those limbs exploded upon touching the blade. Withering Sorrows released their strangling tentacles from Hohza and Gohta and used them to snare Tad by the legs. They pulled the boy statue away, dragging the blade out of their body.

Ayara and Kornin raced to the orcs. They dragged them to the hallway door with the others.

“I can’t believe it!” Hohza’s throat rasped. “He hurt the Dread Lord!”

“Yes, but now the Dread Lord has him,” Ayara said.

The Dread Lord flung Tad across the banquet room. Bigrummar dashed to catch the statue. He cradled it in his arms, careful not to let the blade it wielded touch his skin, and returned to Yurzan by the kitchen door.

“Evacuate the keep!” Bonnelle waved to the hallway door. “You too, Bigrummar and Yurzan!”

“What do you say, boss?” Yurzan leaned away from the boy statue.

“I say it’s a better deal than we had!” The troll kicked the dining table out of his way. Glum, crouched there and collecting the lures in their chest, yelled for the troll oaf to be careful. “Grab this old guy,” Bigrummar ordered Yurzan. The troll proceeded to the hall, pivoting to avoid the Dread Lord’s flailing.

Yurzan snatched Glum during his sprint. The old goblin kept the chest and his cane while dangling from the gangly orc’s arms. When Yurzan and Glum passed the Dread Lord, Glum apologized to the wraith.

Two of Bigrummar’s orcs slammed the doors shut once everyone gathered in the hall. It wasn’t enough to block the Dread Lord’s shrill cries. Some orcs covered their ears and even the normally unflappable Bonnelle nervously nibbled her lip while looking at the door.

Gohta and Hohza leaned against a wall, gasping for air. Their eyes were watery and bloodshot. Renaut and Henri, seated on Hohza’s shoulders, tossed a gossamer film to one another. They held it over the orc’s chest and let it settle on his wounds. He sighed in relief.

“No medicine better than sprite medicine,” Renaut commented. “As much as elves like to deny it.”

Bigrummar set the Tad statue on the floor. Ayara crouched beside it and patted its head. She looked up to the troll. “Thank you for saving him.”

Looking away, the troll bashfully admitted “I’m just trying to fix my mess.”

“Speaking of mess, could you sprites take care of the boss’s back, here? Looks like a bearwulv hugged him,” Yurzan shouted at the elves.

“We don’t take orders from you,” Renaut replied.

“Please do what you can.” The film over Hohza’s chest bubbled and fell away, revealing bright, scarred skin.

Rushing to Tad, Glum pushed Ayara aside. While keeping the chest pinched under his left arm he dropped the cane from his right hand and touched the boy’s face. “What did you do? I gave you the egg to protect yourself!” His voice broke, torn between relief and anger.

“He wounded a Dread Lord and saved us,” Hohza said. He took deep breaths, watching the newly healed chest swell. Bargur returned Hohza and Gohta their magical weapons, then rejoined Bigrummar and his war party.

“We were never in need of saving,” Lt. Chrincha protested. He leaned against his staff with his arms wrapped around the weapon. “A half hour ago we could have left safely. You lot insisted on going back for these monsters.” The Lieutenant paid no attention to the orcs who glowered at him.

“Saved our lives for the moment, but possibly doomed us in the long term.” Bonnelle stood with her hammer held low. “The Dread Lord gives order to their Keep. The logic of this place will falter so long as they’re hurt.” She looked down the hall. It branched left and right every few steps. The light spilling in seemed different at every turn. “There was just one turn that way before.”

“We can overcome this,” Toran said. “You just need to recall your trip here and then reverse it in your head. All the way back to the front gate.” He strode forward, confidently approaching a right turn some hundred steps ahead where the light was like this hall. The others followed. Their steps were light and quick, on the verge of breaking into a run should the Dread Lord burst from the banquet hall. Every few steps someone would look back, prompted by the continued enraged screaming of Withering Sorrows.

Wincing from the sprites’ medicine thrown on his back, Bigrummar watched the others depart. He moved to pick up Tad but Ayara laid her hands on his to stop him. “You’re hurt,” she told the troll, then looked to Kornin. “Please take him?”

The big elf hefted the boy, careful to keep the dagger pointed away. The Eggfinity rolled in his other hand. “Worse comes to worse, I can jab somebody with him.” The rest of the group walked after Toran.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“You be careful with my apprentice, there!” Glum waved his cane at Kornin.

“Apologies, sir, but your apprentice is a statue.”

“Won’t be for forever, though.” Glum pointed his cane at the statue’s right hand, with its fingers loosely fit around the enchanted stone. “He knew to not hold it too tight. With a little grease we should be able to pop that right out!”

“He’s a smart boy,” said Ayara.

“Smart, sure, but it’s not like didn’t teach him everything he knows.” Glum nodded his head as if confirming his own boast.

“What exactly happened back there,” Ayara asked her uncle. He was many paces ahead, with Hohza, Gohta, and Bonnelle clustered near him.

“Tad used the Eggfinity to turn himself into immortal stone, which as it turned out was enough to power the enchantment of the Wraith’s Edge,” Toran answered, not bothering to look back.

“Immortal stone, like in Mount Yendell,” Bonnelle asked.

“The dwarves always want to complain about Yendell,” Lt. Chrincha grumbled.

“Yes, just like it. It doesn’t weather and needs to be worked by powerful enchantments,” Kornin said.

“Like the kinds dwarves can put in their tools. I believe we’ve still never been paid for the work we performed on Yendell,” Bonnelle said.

“As I said,” groused the Lieutenant.

“While I appreciate the feud between your kind and elves, Bonnelle, I think we’ve a bigger matter at hand. A goblin just dealt a potentially mortal blow to a wraith! Withering Sorrows can’t let us leave now.”

“Mortals wounding wraiths isn’t unheard have. There were maybe two dozen slain by elves during the golden era. Perhaps eighteen killed by humans.” Toran paused at an intersection. He stared down the hall, this one of golden walls and blue carpets with dazzling white chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. After a step he shook his head and mumbled “not this one” while those behind him bumped into each other. The Dread Lord’s screams had faded behind them.

“It’s just that it hasn’t happened in ages and always at the expense of whole armies.” Bonnelle bounded forward, toting her hammer with her. “Wait, that door looks familiar! Is that the lounge where we were given these clothes?” She pointed at the beige door, which had an arched top and metal strapping resembling ivy. “My armor should be inside!” She butted the door with her hammer, revealing the blue library inside.

“That’s not good,” Hohza said.

“I can’t say I mind too much.” Bonnelle sauntered into the room, rolling her hips with each step. She threw her hair back and looked at Hohza over her bare shoulder. “Me in this dress, surrounded by books, tell me you wouldn’t mind dying like this!” She threw herself on the couch and laid back. “We’re safe here, anyway. This collection is too valuable for the Dread Lord to destroy.”

The Rude Rubies, Lt. Chrincha, and Toran joined Bonnelle in the Blue Library. The rest stayed in the hall, save Glum, who followed Kornin because the elf strolled into the room still toting Tad. Hohza entered last, keeping his sword clutched in his hand. Gohta was closing the door behind him when Hohza pushed it back open. “Let’s leave it open. I worry what the Dread Lord’s magic might do if we lose sight of each other.”

With his head bowed, Gohta replied “Of course, War Master.” His voice was soft and he dared not look Hohza in the eyes.

Hohza clasped his friend’s shoulders. “Gohta, I know you’ve felt that I didn’t want you in my War Party. Know that while there may have been situations that I felt you wouldn’t act appropriately, I have never doubted your resolve and loyalty. There is no one I’d want by my side now more than you!”

“Yes, War Master,” Gohta answered, firmer and with a hint of a smile.

Patting the sofa seat beside her, Bonnelle welcomed Hohza into the room. He sat, his posture tense as he watched the hall. Bonnelle draped herself over him. “The wine is getting to me.”

“Careful, Hohza, she’s a randy drunk,” Ayara taunted.

The Lieutenant bent to examine a shelf of books. “That was the door to our lounge, but this isn’t the lounge. As I understand it, doors should lead to their corresponding rooms no matter how twisted the halls become.”

“Does that mean the Dread Lord is dead if the Keep is so broken?” Ayara fussed with her gloves.

Glum shuddered at the suggestion of the Dread Lord Withering sorrows being dead. He set the chest on the floor and sat on it, panting. “Could someone take this chest for me when we leave? It’s more to carry than I expected.”

“Carry his chest, Bargur,” Bigrummar snapped.

“But boss, he’s one of Hohza’s War Party!”

“Things have changed. We’ve got a Dread Lord trying to kill us. Carrying an old goblin’s chest shouldn’t be your biggest problem, Bargur.”

Standing before the fireplace, Toran rubbed his chin in thought. “It’s quite the opposite, Ayara. It takes concerted effort to alter the doors. It seems Withering Sorrows isn’t as wounded as we thought and they’re keeping us trapped here.”

Holding Tad over a squat bookshelf, Kornin tapped the Wraith’s Edge against a window. The moonlight shining through the frosted glass was broken by thick black lines. “It’s a shame the windows are barred. I’ll wager they’re enchanted to make sure nobody got in or out.”

“The banquet hall’s balcony wasn’t barred!” Bonnelle snapped her fingers. “Could we descend the building from the outside?”

“It’s possible. The walls are shear when approaching from the outside, but if you leave from the inside they should be more accommodating.” Toran looked out to the hall. “But is going to the banquet hall wise? Withering Sorrows is not a fool; he might be waiting for us there, knowing that between twisting the rooms and having most windows barred, we’d be forced to go there.”

Something howled in the dark recesses of the halls. Bigrummar and his soldiers held up their weapons.

An orc’s spear wobbled in his grip as he cowered. “Is that the Dread Lord hunting us?”

“Sounded like a wolf.”

“A wraith can become a wolf if they want!”

“Sounded like a regular, small wolf. An old one at that.”

Then there was a piercing squeal and the shouted cursing of small voices.

“I know that boar,” said Gohta. He stepped deeper into the halls. “Who’s there?”

“I know that voice,” a goblin shouted in the distance. “That’s the fat orc who was giving the boss a hard time! It’s me, Yib, from the North Country! We’ve heard the boss is in trouble.” A moment later, Greybrow turned the corner with his nose the ground as he loped along. Keg trotted behind, pausing and grunting in annoyance every time the wolf stopped to scratch or get his bearings. The squad of goblin scouts followed them. When they saw the open door to the library they ran inside. In a flurry of activity they’d taken the Tad statue and Glum’s chest.

“This gives me an idea,” Hohza said after the room settled. He rose from the couch, leaving behind Bonnelle’s lingering touch, and wandered to a bookshelf. Without looking at the title he took one book down and strolled to to the fireplace, where Toran stood. “If the Dread Lord is being a patient hunter and waiting for us at the banquet hall then what if we force them to seek us out the way these goblins did?”

“How would we do that,” Toran asked. He glanced at the book in his pupil’s hand.

“The Dread Lord doesn’t know everything that happens in their Keep, but they can sense when damage is done, right?” With a sly smile on his face the orc tossed his tome into the blaze. The pages blackened and the leather cover shriveled, then flaked away.

Bonnelle gasped at the sight, then settled back on the couch. “At least let me pick some of the less valuable ones.”