CHAPTER 9

MINES OF KAZNARLIG

Mark took the lead, with Yarouth and Bakgrim following close behind, along with the mule carrying their supplies. The path up the mountain was treacherously steep and narrow. One wrong step could send them tumbling to certain doom. The biting cold gnawed at their bones, and snow fell relentlessly from the sky. The wind howled fiercely, whipping the snowflakes directly into their faces, obscuring their vision and making it even harder to navigate the precarious trail. Climbing the formidable mountain of Kaznarlig was not a task for the faint of heart.

"How much farther to the mine?" Bakgrim shouted, his voice barely carrying over the fierce wind.

"About an hour, I reckon!" Mark shouted back.

"An hour? Blast!"

"Remember the treasure waiting for us!" Yarouth encouraged his nephew. "The wealth of the ancient dwarves, all ours for the taking!"

As they ascended, the path became steeper, the snow deeper. The trail was narrow, barely wide enough for their horses to pass. Bakgrim's curses were drowned out by the wind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the entrance to the mine. It was nestled deep within the heart of the mountain, hidden from sight by towering cliffs and rocky outcrops. They dismounted their horses and approached the entrance.

Yarouth and Bakgrim lit torches, and together with Mark they ventured into the abandoned mine. The darkness enveloped them, with only their flickering torches to light the way. They pressed forward, deeper into the mine, the echoes of their footsteps reverberating off the walls. Strewn across the ground were remnants of past mining operations, rusted tools left behind from years of neglect.

Suddenly, a loud roar echoed through the mine. “Uh-oh!” Bakgrim exclaimed. “That might be why the humans left this place!”

“Stay back!” Mark warned, drawing his sword.

The ground trembled beneath their feet as heavy footsteps approached. Whatever was coming their way, it was enormous. Emerging from the darkness stood a beast, towering at ten feet tall. Its skin glowed red, with piercing yellow eyes, horns adorning its head, and massive teeth protruding from its mouth. Its muscular frame wielded a colossal hammer with ease.

"Who dares disrupt my sleep?" the beast bellowed in a terrifying voice.

"I do," Mark declared. "I don't know what you are, but I suggest you step aside if you value your life."

Without a word, the beast slammed its massive hammer into the ground, sending shockwaves through the earth. Mark feared the entire mine might collapse. Reacting quickly, he lunged forward and slashed at the beast's feet, sending chunks of flesh and blood flying. Enraged, the beast attempted to strike Mark with its hammer, but Mark agilely dodged the blow.

Mark thrust his sword into the beast's thigh and twisted it. The beast instinctively swung its hammer at Mark, but he swiftly pulled back his blade, causing the hammer to strike its own thigh. Mark chuckled triumphantly. The beast stomped, causing the entire mine to tremble. With a powerful swing of its hand, it struck Mark, sending him tumbling to the ground. Mark's face collided with the earth, and as he rose, he spat out blood. He vowed not to underestimate the beast again.

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Mark lunged ahead, leaping high into the air and landing on the beast's shoulder with the skill of an acrobat. Swiftly, he seized the horns atop its head, using them to propel himself even higher. With a decisive thrust, he plunged his sword deep into the beast's skull, piercing its brain. The creature let out a chilling scream of agony before slumping to the ground.

"That was something else," Bakgrim remarked.

"Just another day in the life of a hired sword," Mark chuckled. "Now, let's go claim your treasure."

They pressed on into the depths of the mine, discovering an entrance that opened up into a wide tunnel. With Bakgrim and Yarouth's torches lighting the way, they ventured deeper. Eventually, the tunnel led them to a vast underground city constructed from stone. The city sprawled with broad avenues and countless structures.

"The ancient city!" Yarouth exclaimed with excitement, nearly bouncing with joy.

They strolled down one of the wide avenues, with Yarouth leading the way. Their destination: the grandest building in the city, likely a palace. As they stepped inside, the floor was strewn with the bones of dwarves. "Looks like the plague took its toll," Yarouth remarked solemnly.

"Look over there!" Bakgrim exclaimed, pointing to a room on their left. "Treasure!"

The dwarves practically trembled with excitement, their eyes gleaming with greed. The room was a treasure trove, filled with golden artifacts, jewels, diamonds, and other valuable items. But what caught Mark's eye was a longsword with a greenish hue on its blade. "What's this?" he asked.

Yarouth gasped. "I never thought we'd stumble upon a spirit sword!"

"A spirit sword?" Mark echoed.

"Yes, according to the ancient scrolls I've read, swords like this were enchanted weapons forged in dragonfire to banish ghosts and demons that normal swords couldn't touch."

Mark approached and picked it up. "This could come in handy," he mused, testing its weight in his hand.

The ground shook as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the palace. Bakgrim dashed out of the room to investigate, only to let out a terrified scream moments later. "Monsters!" he cried.

"Let's get out of here!" Mark bellowed.

"But what about the treasure?" Yarouth protested.

"Would you rather have the treasure or your life?" Mark snapped back.

Yarouth quickly scooped up a handful of jewelry and stuffed them into a golden cup before Mark grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the exit. Dozens of colossal crimson beasts, resembling the one Mark had slain earlier, thundered toward them. "I knew this had been too easy to be true," Mark muttered under his breath.

They sprinted down the wide avenue, the monsters hot on their heels. Some wielded massive hammers and hurled them at the trio, narrowly missing their heads. Mark sweated and panted. His muscles burned with exertion, but he pushed himself forward, clutching Yarouth tightly while Bakgrim trailed close behind.

Finally, they reached the tunnel leading back to the mine. In the darkness, they stumbled onward, their torches forgotten in the chaos. Somehow, they made it back to the mine entrance, relieved to find no monsters pursuing them through the tunnel. Emerging from the mine, they breathed a sigh of relief. Mark couldn't help but smile as the cold wind and snowflakes greeted him. He never thought he'd be so grateful to be back in the chilly entrance of the mine.

"I only managed to grab this cup and a few pieces of jewelry!" Yarouth protested. "We barely made any profit!"

"What a missed opportunity!" Bakgrim agreed. "That room down there was overflowing with gold. We could have been swimming in riches. And that was just one room! Think of all the treasures still waiting to be found."

"Be grateful we made it out alive," Mark reminded them. "And I still expect to be paid."

"When I promised you the coin, I thought we'd be rolling in treasure!" Yarouth complained.

"You've seen what I can do with a sword," Mark warned. "You don't want to upset me. Plus, you need my help getting back to Ikronion."

"How about this? You get three hundred coins instead of five hundred, and you can keep the spirit sword," Yarouth suggested.

Mark agreed with a nod. "That sounds like a fair deal. That sword could come in handy for someone like me."

And so, the three travelers set off on their long journey back to Ikronion. Mark was once again on the road, for such is the life of a wanderer – always in motion.