The offer was greeted with enthusiasm, since neither of them had had time for breakfast. To be on the safe side, Tim pulled out of his pocket the chain with a biconvex lens Rugud had given him - the lens glowed a yellowish-green. They've got plenty of time, therefore they can sit for ten or even twenty minutes. It was quite comfortable in the cave, the only pity was that no one had thought to put benches so that they wouldn't have to sit on the floor. Thanks to meditation, though, Tim had already gotten used to the feeling of a solid surface under his bottom. When he was a little boy, his mother often reprimanded him if he sat down on the floor, saying, "Don't do that, or you will freeze something". Although he did not feel any cold under him, neither here nor there.

They took off and unpacked their backpacks, sitting next to the statue. In Tim's one, among other things, there was the pickaxe. He had to adjust it so that if necessary, he could pull it out at once, without digging into the backpack. Alas, he could not put it in his pocket, and it would be too tiresome to keep it in his hand all the time. He wished he could find a belt and attach a sheath to it, just as swords were carried in the old days. For now, he had to hang a pickaxe from one of the loops on his backpack. After that, Tim concentrated on his portion of the bgurt. Five plates didn't seem like much, but one was enough to make the hunger go away.

"It's good, though!" Ri-Bo muttered with his mouth open, managing to finish two plates at once.

"Dwarves can make things like that," Mez'A'Shib nodded. "So can the light elves, by the way, but with flour, not meat. They brew a miraculous potion, too - once you drink a few sips, fatigue will go away immediately and you will be able to run the whole day. And if you're ill, you'll feel better in no time. It's a pity the drowes have forgotten how to make it."

"By the way, was there anything in that book Tim had brought from the library about your people?" Naar-Tam was interested in it.

"Not much, but there was something I didn't know before. Thanks to the author: he gave detailed descriptions of the major events of the Great Wars era. As it turned out, Viltaar's squad was sent at the very end, when the warring parties were ready to sit down at the negotiating table. The emergence of a large armed unit in the rear of the dwarves would almost certainly have negated the diplomats' efforts - even if the elves hadn't managed to hurt the beardies."

"So someone really wanted to keep the war going," Tim said wryly.

"Of course, there were some among orcs, dwarves, and elves. Orcish warlord Bagrash, for instance, suggested waiting for a dry summer and burning down all the forests - orcs tended to fight well in open countryside, but they felt uncomfortable in the forest thickets. In fairness it should be noted that among elves also there were supporters of radical solutions to problems: Elkhyar, the witch doctor, suggested changing the formula of Plague so that it would affect only orcs and no one else. Dwarves meanwhile had time to invent a black powder: place it into a jug and set on fire, and the shards of the jar will fly in all directions. And if you take the barrel of it, the whole house will be left in ruins. So it wasn't for nothing that Viltaar didn't want to go on that expedition. Tiliel, on the other hand, had asked for it - as if she had a premonition that she would be the first ruler of the drowes."

"You make it sound as if she had arranged the skirmish with the goblins, during which Viltaar was mortally wounded."

"Why not? Goblins also took part in wars, some tribes on the side of elves, others on the side of orcs or dwarves; whoever paid, they served. They were of little use on the battlefield: they ran in a noisy crowd, but if they failed to overturn the enemy, they scattered and fled. Therefore, they were hired on the principle: at least a little damage to the enemy, and that's good. Orcs were not ceremonious with them at all - they chased them in front of the orcish army on palisades in the forests or to clear the underground tunnels with their bodies. So it was no surprise if some tribe agreed to work as assassins for a hefty purse of gold."

"What morals you have, though," Naar-Tam shook his head.

"It's nothing supernatural," Tim said. "We've had all kinds of things happen in our history, too. For instance, there was once a country called Ancient Rome. Emperors ruled there, some well, some not so well. There were probably more of the latter ones than of the former ones, that is why their empire started to degrade. The enemy detachments, called barbarians, were almost reaching the capital. And, finally, there came a moment when a very large army arrived, with the obvious intentions to seize the capital and loot the whole country. Fortunately, there was a commander who was able to repulse the horde. After the battle, the emperor summoned him to his office supposedly for reward, but in fact he had him executed. Or even stabbed him with his own hand, I don't remember exactly."

"Wow!!!" the peiroth's eyes widened.

"Not even the anzimars can do that," Ri-Bo remarked sneeringly.

"But why would he want to do that?" Naar-Tam continued to wonder.

"Because the emperor feared that the warlord would want to take the throne himself," Mez'A'Shib explained.

"Don't worry, the emperor didn't rule long after that."

"Aye, that's what he deserved!"

"But that doesn't happen to us now," Tim reassured them. "Though an 'accident' can be rigged."

"He must have been an emperor too," Naar-Tam nodded toward the statue.

"Perhaps. There's something written on the pedestal, but I can't make out what it is."

"Alas. The language of the geerkhs is unknown to our rings."

"It has simply not been studied by anyone for lack of use."

"But the first inhabitants of the school had some contact with the geerkhs, didn't they?" Tim protested.

Uh, too bad again, no cell phone here - such selfies with the statue could have been taken! And he would have collected a million likes! The main thing is that no one can repeat it, because there are no monuments to spiders on Earth, especially with a crown on their heads!

"See, how!" Ri-Bo cheerfully exclaimed, jumping on the pedestal and putting his left hand around the statue's torso.

A sudden creak from below made him jump back down. Slowly, as if waking up after a thousand years of sleep, the statue came to motion, turning around its axis. After half a turn it froze again, and inside the pedestal there was an amber-colored casket, with intricate carvings on its surface.

"Well, Ri-Bo, you have a real talent for jumping up and opening things with that!"

"Did we really find a treasure!?"

"Looks like it. Careful, it might be booby-trapped!"

Tim's fears turned out to be unfounded - the casket was not equipped with any secret mechanisms that would spray poison or shoot sharp blades if handled carelessly. To open the lid, it was enough to press the two bulges on the sides. Inside they found rolls of aluminum foil - so it seemed to Tim at first glance. In fact, the metal only looked like aluminum; it was much stronger at a thickness comparable to a foil he was accustomed to on Earth, unable to be torn with bare hands and crushed into a lump. The surface of the metal sheets was covered in strange signs and drawings that didn't say anything to the friends. But it was clear that it was of great value, and the dwarves were sure to find much interest in it.

"Consider that we've paid back not only our expedition, but the contents of a hundred backpacks like ours," Mez'A'Shib grinned.

"You think so, don't you?"

"Sure, even if the dwarves don't figure out what had been written there, they'll probably find where to put these sheets to profit."

"But they're not made of gold!"

Mez'A'Shib looked condescendingly at Ri-Bo.

"The value of anything is not determined solely by what it's made of. There are masterpieces of iron and copper that cost high prices. It's hard to say how valuable our find is, but if it was hidden rather than left in a corner, it must have had some value to the geerkhs."

"Maybe they left their knowledge here before they left, hoping to come back," Tim suggested.

"But they didn't come back for some reason. So the knowledge belongs to us now," Ri-Bo concluded. "Could we really sell it for a bucket of gold?"

"If you can find a buyer," Mez'A'Shib shrugged.

"Here's an idea: let's give a few of the sheets to the dwarves and keep the rest. They might fetch a good price."

"Who are you going to offer them to?" the drow said ironically.

"You'll see!"

"I don't think it's quite fair to the bearded creatures," Naar-Tam stated hesitantly. "They might have turned us over to the administration last time, but they've agreed to help."

Tim put an end to the argument.

"Let's do this: we'll keep our promise, but we'll bring two or three sheets at a time. Otherwise, the dwarves will get all at once and lose interest in us. What if we don't get anything else?"

"It makes sense," Mez'A'Shib agreed.

"Shall we hide them with our backpacks?"

"Better to keep them here, it's safer."

Tim took two metal sheets, rolled up into a tube and passed them onto Naar-Tam.

"Now we must somehow put the 'emperor' back in place. Ri-Bo, can you do it?"

"In a jiffy!"

However, the statue did not want to go back to its place.

"Let me try!" Naar-Tam fussed, but without much success either.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Ri-Bo, did you press any buttons on the geerkh by any chance?" Mez'A'Shib half-jokingly asked.

"I think one of its 'arms' slid to the side and when I heard the creaking sound, I was scared and forgot all about it!"

As they examined the statue, they had no trouble finding the "dislocated" limb, which served essentially as a lever to open the hiding place. As soon as they tugged at it, the statue returned to its place.

"Now, if you've had enough, let's move on! What next adventure lies ahead of us?"

"The closest section of the way is clear," Mez'A'Shib checked the map. "We can move around safely until we're on the other side of the mountain."

They hadn't been able to relax, however: since they'd just entered another tunnel when Tim sensed a chill. It was pleasant at first, but the cold gradually increased; he could see Ri-Bo anxiously rubbing his cold palms together, and Naar-Tam slowly increasing the brightness of his Torch to try to warm himself with the heat it radiated. Mez'A'Shib, though he made no sign of it, was the first to worry.

"I wonder why it's so cold. It can't be! The lower the level, the warmer it should be! Must be some kind of magic!"

"Oh-h, and we d-don't have a m-mag-detector... w-what are we sup-p-posed to do?" Naar-Tam, whose teeth were chattering, pitiably asked.

"We cannot stay where we are! We have to get out of here and escape the magic!"

On their nearly unbending legs they rushed forward, trying to keep warm while they moved. The effort was taxing, and so when they reached the next cave, where the temperature was quite normal, they tried to catch their breath before warming up their frozen limbs.

"W-why d-doesn't the m-map say so," Naar-Tam said, that couldn't stop shivering.

His Torch had gone out from overexertion, and now they would have to wait until the magic could be used again. Fortunately, it was not too dark in the cave.

"I guess he just didn't notice the cold because he was cold-tolerant."

"What if he's the yusme who didn't like the school?"

"It's possible. And he was trying to get out to the ocean."

"If such a passage even exists."

"But the geerkhs got out of here somehow!"

"What if they hid deep underground?"

"Well, we'll get to them sooner or later!" Ri-Bo brightened up.

The only thing we don't know is whether the geerkhs would be happy about such a meeting, Tim chuckled to himself. If they have a conflict with the school, they can tell them to go away without even trying to negotiate. And that's at best - what if they don't refuse to eat schoolchildren who have wandered into their territory?

"It is unlikely that we'll meet them on the minus third tier," Mez'A'Shib said melancholy. "And we still have to get to the entrance to the minus fourth tier. Personally, I don't understand the 'air' marking in the next tunnel. Do you have any idea what might be waiting for us?"

"We'll figure it out on the spot," Naar-Tam waved it off.

They encountered danger earlier than expected - or maybe the notation on the map wasn't as accurate as they'd hoped. At first, the breathing became more rapid, as if they had run a hundred yards. Then came the feeling of a fish pulled out of the water - Tim realized with horror that he was beginning to suffocate. That's what the author of the map meant by 'air' - almost no air at all! When it is too little, it becomes difficult to breathe - that's why climbers take oxygen cylinders with them when they climb high in the mountains! But they are not such cylinders here and it is unknown whether they will ever appear. So, there is only one thing to do - to pass this place as quickly as possible!

His friends thought of the same thing at almost the same time as he did, because all four of them switched to running without collusion. Running was easier on the one hand, since the cold did not constrain their movements, but on the other hand it was more difficult, since they had to breathe even more quickly. When they finally got out of the 'kill zone', they could not catch their breath for about five minutes, as if they were thirsty travelers in the middle of a red-hot desert, who suddenly found themselves holding a canister of cool clear water.

"What an adventure!" Ri-Bo marveled. "It's time to hold a race to see who can run faster!"

"More like a race for survival," Tim grimaced.

He stumbled as he raced, nearly falling over. Mez'A'Shib noticed this and explained to the tilfing:

"Imagine, if you twisted your leg in the middle of a trap, would you have time to get out from under the magic? That's just it. It's better to have fewer adventures like this."

"And more crystals!" Naar-Tam finished cheerfully, picking up the gray octahedron from the floor, almost imperceptible in the dimness around them.

"I think there's something better," Mez'A'Shib looked around and scraped a growth of pale green moss off the wall, under which there was a piece of the puzzle.

"How did you spot it?" Ri-Bo wondered.

"Very simply: the glow was too unusual, as if it were not the moss, but its roots. And since the moss has no roots..."

"Is the shard glowing itself? Cool!"

The friends crowded around Mez'A'Shib, staring at the find with amazement. Indeed, no one in their class had ever been lucky enough to find a fragment that gave off light. Was it due to the symbolic depiction of the sun on it, a circle framed by dashes?

"It would be better to hide it and not show it to anyone for the time being."

"Why?"

The drow couldn't explain, but Tim felt intuitively that this delicate and almost weightless part of the unknown painting could be very important to them. Mez'A'Shib handed it to him for safekeeping without much regret, and Tim immediately tucked it deep into his pocket.

The next thing on their path was a 'skating rink', the thought of which again made Tim's limbs feel cold. But the reality was different: Mez'A'Shib, who was walking ahead, slipped and fell with a startled yelp. Trying to stand up, he slipped again and rolled down - the tunnel was going downhill.

Ri-Bo and Naar-Tam stopped, unsure of what to do next - it wasn't easy to stay on your feet on the perfectly smooth surface. We'd need a sled here, Tim thought, on which kids like to slide down ice slides, but in principle we could do it the simpler way, by sitting on the bottom and rolling. Which he did, setting an example for the others.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked Mez'A'Shib anxiously once he was below.

"I don't think so, but the backpack was a little bruised. It's good the dwarves didn't put any breakable objects in it..."

"Here we are!" Ri-Bo announced happily. He got the taste for the high speed and, before he had time to slow down, crashed straight into Mez'A'Shib, making him groan again.

"That's all well and good, but how do we get back?" Naar-Tam landed beside him.

Indeed, no matter how much you want to, you can't roll upward. There seems to be a corresponding law in physics, but Tim couldn't formulate it properly. But it was clear without any scientific knowledge - to get back to the hill, one has to climb up it. As a last resort, there is a pick - if you try hard enough, you can scratch the surface of the 'rink', making it rough, and then your feet will stop slipping. But somehow got out of this trap others!

The way out, however, was found without much difficulty - there were notches and potholes along the very edge on the right side, almost invisible from above, but well enough distinguishable from below. The only inconvenience was the need to move close to the tunnel wall, involuntarily wiping your uniform on it. Good thing their daily clothes were gray - not very pretty, but practical, no dirt or dust on them was noticeable.

"We can go back now," Naar-Tam reassured himself. "So it makes sense to go further."

"How much further to the minus fourth tier?" Ri-Bo asked immediately.

"Minus third one is not inspiring you anymore?" Mez'A'Shib replied snidely. "You'll see, there are still many surprises waiting for us. Not as harmless as racing or riding on our own bottoms."

"Bite your tongue," Tim couldn't resist.

"What exquisite curses you know, though!"

As it turned out, the translation ring transformed his phrase into something like 'may you hang by your tongue from the ceiling'.

"It's tough, indeed," Naar-Tam shook his head.

"I didn't really wish for anything of the sort," Tim excused himself. "It's just a wish that what's said won't come true."

However, a lot of things that they didn't wish came true, but why rush things?

They walked about two hundred meters (maybe even three hundred, who counted?) without any adventures, except for the inscription that Naar-Tam accidentally noticed. It happened in another cave where the only attraction was a pedestal without a statue - it was either forgotten or not put up in time, as the wreckage was nowhere to be seen. The strange inscription was near the ceiling, and Mez'A'Shib had to scramble up the pedestal to read it.

"What does it say?" Ri-Bo, as usual, suffered from impatience.

"Lilamir and Gar'Ja'Fin were here. Have you not?"

"It hardly has anything to do with geerkhs," Tim grinned.

"A light elf and a dark elf together?" Naar-Tam wondered. "Is that possible?"

"Why not," Mez'A'Shib shrugged. "It depends on us. If you want to be friends with someone who in turn wants to be friends with you, then no prejudices will interfere. Although at the first meeting, they most often prevail."

"I thought the anzimars were nice guys at first," Naar-Tam puzzled.

"That's another thing. You didn't know anything about them before school, and first impressions are often deceptive. I also didn't know before about peirots and yusmes existence, so why would there be any prejudice? In such cases, you make up your own opinion first, and then you decide whether or not to be friends."

They continued on their way, but were soon blocked by a wall that sealed off the passageway.

"Well, my goodness! Was it really a dead end?"

"It can't be. There are no signs of any turn offs on the map, there is simply no other way."

"But this wall was not marked either! Whoever drew the map should be torn off his ears! And something else as well!"

"Maybe he was sketching from memory. And not immediately after his visit to the dungeon, but some time later," Tim interceded for the unknown cartographer.

"I realize he might not have suffered from the cold, but how could he forget something like that?" Ri-Bo was indignant, pointing at the wall. "He couldn't have gone any farther!"

"So he was able," Mez'A'Shib said ironically. "I suppose, there must be a hidden lever, too, that allows you to get past the obstacle. I'll see if I can find it."

But it turned out to be simpler than that. As soon as he tried to grope the wall, it was as if his hand had fallen through the stone. The wall turned out to be illusory - take a step through it and you'll find yourself on the other side.

"It's not a bad idea, though! It looks just like the real thing!"

"That's what it's all about - what's the point of doing it half-assed? That way any fool would understand he's being tricked."

"We could have figured it out right away. It was marked 'illusions'!"

"Not quite there, a little farther away. But it doesn't matter now. It was already clear that the map could not be trusted for everything."

"As they say in our part of the world, trust but verify," Tim noted.

"It's nothing," Naar-Tam waved it off . "Are we to fear illusions? If we have managed to overcome the Sphere of Terror, walls painted in the air won't stop us at all."

But it wasn't that simple.

When they passed the wall they found themselves in a glade with a huge anthill in the middle. Even realizing that it wasn't real, Tim preferred to avoid it; Mez'A'Shib followed his example. Ri-Bo, on the other hand, wanting to show off his toughness, kicked the anthill hard. The illusion didn't go anywhere, of course, but the sight of insects on his legs made the tilfing to shake them off with jumps - with equal success. The only way to get rid of the "ants" was to move far away from their home.

And then they wandered through the swamp, accompanied by the chorus of frogs and the singing of cicadas. At some point in time all the sounds stopped, and snakes crawled out of the swamp toward them - how to remain calm, assuring yourself of their illusory nature, if they hissed and wiggled just like the real thing? Instinctively, the friends backed away, then, overcoming their fear, went around the wall. The swamp soon gave way to a forest, dark and gloomy, with shriveled leaves underfoot and dreary, waiting for the coming of winter, trees that creaked pitifully in the gusts of wind. Strange flowers, black with bright red speckles, swaying here and there on long purple stalks, also made a sullen impression. The sight of them filled Tim's soul with sadness and despair, he wanted to lie down and die. Ri-Bo was the first to fall to his knees, beginning to sob and wiping his tears with his hands. Mez'A'Shib stopped, closed his eyes and whispered a few unintelligible words. Only Naar-Tam was unaffected by the magic of the flowers, he looked at his fellows with a puzzled look on his face, and laughed. And this laughter helped them to overcome witchy charms.

"Hey! Why are you so sour? They're not real! Just don't look at them, that's all!"

"That's right," the tilfing shook himself, ashamed of his own weakness. "Why are we still here? Come on, let's go!"

It cheered them up a bit. Soon they came to the end of the forest, to the edge of a cliff with the clouds floating in front of them. Far away, at the top of the mountain, there was a castle built of white marble, and the spires of its towers glittered in the rays of the rising sun. That's where a hearty dinner and a night's sleep awaits them, wandering knights, who had survived many adventures and won even more victories. And, sitting by the fireplace, they will tell the hospitable hosts many entertaining stories - about the customs of the peoples inhabiting the land, the caves full of gold and precious stones, the magicians who can fly through the air and revive the figures of stone, the ocean monsters, giants and fierce dragons. And then, perhaps, those stories will form the basis of tales and legends, but neither their narrators nor their listeners will even assume that this is how it really was.

Dreaming, Tim took a step forward, then another. Last year when his family set off on an airplane trip, there was a white featherbed stretching to the horizon under the wings of the airplane. And how much he wanted to run up and down on it! He was very upset then, realizing that his wish had not come true. But now his dream will come true...

He heard a warning shout from behind, but did not have time to react. The clouds parted beneath him, revealing a bottomless abyss, and a sharp pain extinguished his consciousness.