Boltac emerged from the darkness and stood over the tiny Flame. He removed the tattered, burned wool mitten from his hand. For a moment, he considered the struggling Flame. Then he beat it out with three swats.

“mmmmmMMMMMMMM!” protested Asarah. He rushed to her aid and loosened her gag.

“Are you all right?” asked Boltac.

“Untie me!”

“En-henh, you’re all right. Thank the Gods you’re all right. You know, this is a good look for you. Tied up on the ground.”

“Boltac, don’t ruin this by being cute. Untie me.”

“Ruin what?” asked Boltac as he loosened her bonds. “It’s already wrecked. I mean seriously, have you looked around you?”

Boltac helped Asarah to her feet, and she threw her arms around him and kissed him. It was a kiss no money could buy, and a kiss that Boltac wouldn’t have traded for anything in the world.

“You can say whatever you want, Mr. Boltac, but you came back,” she said, kissing him on the nose, “You gave up everything you had to save me. That’s how I know. And that’s what makes you a Hero.”

“A what? Hero? Don’t be silly. I’m not a Hero. I’m just a guy trying to… to…” Boltac realized that he wasn’t quite sure who he was anymore, and he liked it that way. “Anyway, if you want a Hero, you should talk to the kid. That’s his department, after all. Oh, my Gods, the kid!”

Boltac tore himself from Asarah’s arms and rushed to where Relan was slumped against the wall. The Farm Boy still looked like hell, but now his eyes were open. “Did we win?” asked Relan.

“Whattaya mean, did we win?” said Boltac, confused by the question. Then he stood up and looked around. The Wizard was gone. All that remained of the Orcs were now greasy splotches, each with a pile of gold coins in the center. About a stomachful, Boltac thought, before he could banish the terrible thought from his mind. “Henh,” said Boltac, letting it really sink in. He walked to the place where Dimsbury had conjured a Magic door to a room full of Treasure. There, in the darkness, stood a perfectly ordinary and unremarkable wooden door.

Boltac pulled the door open. On the other side, Dimsbury’s hoard gleamed like a dream of avarice at the end of a cold, dark night.

“We won! We WON!” said Boltac.

“We won,” said Relan, as if he didn’t believe it. He struggled to get up, and then fell back on the floor with a gasp of pain.

Boltac rushed back to his side. “Easy, kid,” said Boltac, “Nobody is more surprised about this than me, but contain your enthusiasm. You’re pretty banged up.”

“I thought I was dead. I was dead. Wasn’t I dead? And you said you didn’t have any more Magic potions.”

“Dead? Kid, there’s dead and there’s dead. Besides, no matter what they tell you, there’s always room for negotiation. Even with death.”

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“Can you stand?” asked Asarah.

“Maybe with some help.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” said Asarah.

Relan grunted and cried out in pain, but eventually he made it to his feet.

“Gah, you’re a lug,” said Boltac as Relan settled his weight onto their shoulders. The three of them wheeled for the door. But before they could exit the room a dark shape blocked their way. Backlit by the last torch, the terrible form seemed to reach for them. Asarah shrieked. All three of them flinched. But when a second torch blazed to life they could see that it was a trick of the shadows. Samga stood before them, offering them the light.

“You will need it for your journey.”

Boltac looked at the greasy remains of the other Orcs on the floor and then back to the Orc that stood before him. “Samga, how did you survive?”

“I do not know; I must go to ask the UnderKing.”

“Ah, that guy. He’ll have an answer, but it won’t help you.”

“He knows the hidden ways of things,” said Samga with a shrug. “He is the only one of my kind that I can speak to.”

Boltac took the fabled lamp of Lamptopolis from his belt. It did not light. “Hunh,” said Boltac. “Samga, I’m pretty sure this is just a lamp now, but I want you to have it. It’s a nice lamp, a quality article. Let it remind you, if you ever need my help, you come. You, I owe.”

“But I am a monster. A thing made, not born.”

“Ennh, there are monsters and then there are monsters,” Boltac said with a shrug. “No matter what life hands you, there’s always room to negotiate, is what I’m saying.”

Boltac took the torch from Samga and they watched as he climbed down into the pit.

They found the main passage and ascended. They stopped to rest several times, but saw and heard nothing in the great expanse of the Wizard’s lair. A great underground emptiness surrounded them. The Wizard and his creations were gone.

* * *

Near the exit, they came to a room that was at once familiar and strange. The ceiling had cracked open and now sunlight filled the once-dark room. Here and there around the edge of the room were bones. But the sunlight, the sight of leaves and sky through the ceiling and distant birdsong gave the place a feeling more peaceful than terrible.

In the center of the room there was a dark spot, more dust than anything; in it lay the ornate, jeweled, and cursed mace Boltac had used to trick the Troll what seemed like a lifetime ago.

As Relan and Asarah both gazed at the sunlight and fresh air, Boltac slipped out from underneath Relan’s arm and walked to the mace. “Henh,” he said. Then he bent down to pick up the cursed mace.

“Don’t!” cried Relan weakly, “It’s…”

Boltac hefted the mace and turned to Relan. No sinister forces crushed him to the earth. If anything, the mace felt somewhat lighter than before. Boltac said, “Now it’s just a blunt instrument.” He considered the jewels and ornate carvings that decorated the weapon in his hand. “A faaaancy blunt instrument, but still.”

“It’s not Magic anymore?” asked Relan.

“Nope. I’m pretty sure not even Magic is Magic anymore,” answered Boltac.

“What does that mean?” asked Asarah.

“I dunno,” said Boltac, “but I like it.”

Boltac lifted Relan, and the three made their awkward way from the dungeon. As they walked into the sunlight of a new day, Boltac thought about all that gold, buried far, far beneath them. “So, uh, kid, you’re from a village not far from here, right?”

Relan pointed west with a dejected air, “That way, half a day’s walk. Do you know how hard it was for me to get away from there? You’re not going to leave me there, are you?”

“No. No?” said Boltac. He looked to Asarah, and she shook her head no. “No. You’re with us now. But these villagers, are they uh, big and strong and stupid–I’m sorry, I mean honest–like you?”

“Everyone there is the same,” Relan sighed, “It is very dull. Why do you want to know?”

“I think I know how to liven it up a bit.”

“They don’t like outsiders very much.”

“Do they like gold? ‘Cause if they do, I’ve got some mining work for them.”

“I really don’t want to go back there.”

“Cheer up, it’s about to be a very rich village. And you are about to become the Hero you’ve always wanted to be.”

They loaded Relan in the back of the Ducal Coach. Boltac closed the door and stared at the seal of Weeveston Prestidigitous RampartLion Toroble the 15th. “Henh…” he said.

“What?” asked Asarah.

“That’s gonna have to change.”