Arnath turned his head, listening into the darkness of the cavern. A lifetime of adventuring had taught him this silence was not like that of the peace after battle – this was the ominous silence before some new terror exploded upon them.

                He ignored the sounds of his companions stuffing the newly acquired gold chest into Shrakar’s hide and metal pack. Sensing his concerned gaze, Shrakar and Krellith, a 7-foot tall orc and a 5-foot tall dwarf respectively, looked up from their labours, fingers still working.

                “Quickly.” Arnath quietly seethed through gritted teeth. They gathered his meaning, and re-doubled their efforts. Things were about to get harry.

                Further into the cave stood Garthe, the 17 year old wizard who had recently joined their company. One skinny arm held before him an illumination ampule; a magic glass filled with a liquid that grew extremely bright when shaken. Arnath had instructed him to have it ready, but not to light it yet. Like Arnath, Garthe looked into the maw of darkness and listened, turning his large ears this way and that. In the few adventures he had been on since joining Arnath’s company Garthe had proven himself by standing on point between the party and some incredible threat, all the while swallowing his fear. It quickly earned him the respect of the grizzled veterans he travelled with.

                Seeing that Shrakar and Trellith were finishing with the pack, Trellith buckling the straps across Shrakar’s broad green chest, Arnath stepped forward and quietly joined Garthe. Still listening, Garthe flicked his glance at Arnath’s silent, squinted query and shook his head.

                “I don’t know.” Garthe whispered, cringing immediately at the tiny echo his voice created.

                “But there is something?” whispered Arnath even more quietly. “The curse..?”

                A fortnight before they had been in the town of Moorgate, a few leagues away. At the trading post, where they exchanged some ill-gotten gold for depositors’ chits, the proprietor had offered them a map that supposedly led to the once-great kingdom of Ul. The legends around Ul were that the king of Ul had angered their god and the earth had swallowed the city whole, cursing the errant populace to eternal damnation. Fanciful as such tales were, Arnath knew from experience that they often contained kernels of truth. A city was buried under the Ulgrew mountains, cities contained gold. The rest was nonsense meant to explain earthquakes and cave-ins to the superstitious. Besides, the map was cheap and they were already planning to head in this direction.

                Now, deep within the mountain, with only a distant pinpoint of light guiding their way toward escape, Arnath began to question if they had indeed awoken some unearthly force. He didn’t heed the spiritual much, but in his travels, he had seen things – Things that flew in the face of his staunch belief in only the things he could see.

                Hearing the creak of straining leather, the chime of gold coins settling, Arnath and Garthe turned from the darkness to see Shrakar slowly getting to his feet. The old orc was incredibly strong, but this gold was a heavy prize. It took all four of them the early part of the day to get it this far. Seeing Shrakar had straightened his back, was steady on his feet, Arnath gestured at he and Trellith, a flick of the back of his hand – “Get going.”

                Both old soldiers, Shrakar and Trellith gave no questioning look, just turned and began the trudge toward the light at the upper end of the cavern.

                Arnath leaned in close to Garthe, and whispered. “We’ll walk slowly behind. Bring up the rear. Keep listening for…” Letting the last hang. Surely there was something. They could all feel it as soon as they wrenched the chest of gold from its resting place. But what..?

                Patting Garthe on the shoulder, Arnath gestured for him to follow. Gulping down fear, the young wizard followed, turned slightly to continue monitoring the cave behind. It was only a few steps up the cavern slope when they heard it.

                Arnath and Garthe froze instantly. Peering into the darkness, Arnath thought hard on the sound.  The echo aside, the only thing he could compare it to was bone dice on a stone floor. Yet it sounded like it came from the roof of the cave. They waited for several moments for the sound to report again. When it did not, they moved to continue up the cavern.

                Again, the noise resounded, and this time it did not stop. A cascade of echoing dice, clattering towards them.

                Arnath nodded at the fear-filled Garthe, “Shake it. Cover of dark does us no good anymore.”

                Garthe vigorously shook his hand, the liquid in the teardrop shaped vial immediately casting a glow so bright he and Arnath had to squint against it.

                After the briefest moment of their eyes adjusting, they saw them –

                What first appeared as an army of crawling man-sized insects, lining the walls, roof and floor of the cavern, turned out on second glance to be skeletons. A thousand of them. No – thousands of them! They crawled in speedy pursuit of the party, bones tapping against the stone of the cavern, jaws on the lolling skulls gnashing. Those that had skulls. Some were mere portions of the dead. Whatever had a remaining elbow or knee or socket to crawl with. For a collection of rattling dead things, they were quite fast.

                “Run!” shouted Arnath, rousing Garthe from the shock of the sight. Both of them turned and ran with all they had.

                Arnath could hear urgent clattering gaining on them. He calculated their speed against Garthe’s ability to run. The boy had had no martial training, did not even farm or labour as a child. His speed would not hold. He cupped one hand beside his mouth, and shouted a command ahead. “Shrakar, Trellith – stop!”

                They did, and turned, seeing the undulating nightmare coming up after them for the first time.

                “Unbuckled the pack. Trellith, you and I will carry it. Shrakar, take the boy.” Arnath commanded them as he and Garthe caught up. Shrakar immediately dropped to one knee, and he and the dwarf hastily unbuckled the pack. It fell the cavern floor with a jingling thud. Arnath and Trellith each grabbed one of the straps and took off, the surprisingly fleet dwarf matching Arnath’s pace.

                Arnath turned over his shoulder to see Shrakar snatch Garthe up by the waist, tucking him up under his powerful arm and begin to race after them.

                All the while the echoes of the rattling bone army nipped at their heels. They were gaining !!

                “Garthe – use the spell you got in Kilanthy!” Arnath shouted over his shoulder, still racing toward the light under the weight of the heavy gold chest inside the pack. Turning forward, he heaved heavy breathes, lungs and legs burning from the exertion. A quick glance confirmed that Trellith too did not have much more left to give. Arnath focussed on the growing light of the cavern opening ahead and hoped for his life that the boy understood him.

                Garthe was jostled like a ragdoll, despite Shrakar’s tight grip on him as the mighty orc stormed up the cavern. He heard Arnath’s command, and, after thinking a moment, craned his neck to look up at Shrakar. “Shrakar – I need to be facing the other way. I have to cast behind us.”

                Shrakar nodded, and without his trudging gait faltering, transferred the young wizard to his other arm.

                Garthe’s legs now flailed in front of the running orc, as he faced the on-coming horde of gnashing skeletons. How did they get so close?!

                Carefully easing his body sideways, so as to not wriggle out of Shrakar’s grip, Garthe reached into his cloak and slid a leatherbound note case out of his waistcoat pocket. He carefully unlaced the leather thong enclosing it, gripping it against each jostling buck of the orc’s pumping legs. Despite the buffeting his body was taking, Garthe easily found the ancient spell inside the valise, removed the paper and restored the book back to his waistcoat. Steadying the ancient parchment in his hand, Garthe began to read.

                “Wanaa gee Eeen eck koo Narrrr Ooon...” Garthe orated in the ancient Ufranduu tongue. As he continued down the page, reciting the arcane words, the paper began to spark from the top. Then it began to burn, being eaten by flame from the top of the page downwards.

                Down the darkened bowels of the cavern, behind the roiling bone army, a golden glow began to grow. As it grew, with each new phrase Garthe read, it built towards white-hot intensity. The wild cascade of raging bones took no notice of the giant fireball growing and keeping pace behind them. Then, filling the entire circumference of the cavern, it began to overtake them. The magical flame ate through the bones instantly, enveloping the burning skeletal remains, reducing them to mere dust inside the all-consuming fire.

                Garthe looked up from the last smoldering remnant of the page as he let it go, the incantation complete. Fear struck hold as he saw not only the skeleton army was right on Shrakar’s heals, the ever-growing result of the inferno spell was racing up to meet them as fast as well.

                It took all the courage Garthe could muster to yell, “Shrakar – RUN!!”

                Already feeling the heat on his back, Shrakar gritted his teeth and strained to unleash a last burst of speed. His feet pounding, Shrakar easily closed the ground between he, his dangling passenger and their party companions up front, laden down with treasure.

                Nearing the mouth of the cavern, Shrakar felt the heat on his back grow from scalding to blistering. He didn’t turn back. He could hear the skeletons searing as the magical flame ate ever closer to his back. Up ahead, he could see his companions at the lip of the cavern, uncertain if they could make the jump before them.

                Shrakar let the flames at his back decide for the whole party.

                As he barrelled toward the lip of the cavern, Shrakar spread his powerful arms and heaved with his legs. Tackling his companions over the side of the mountain, Shrakar just barely spared them being caught in an enormous column of fire as it roared out of the mouth of the cavern, blowing charred bones all over the mountain-side. As the party tumbled roughly down the rocky mountain face, they bounded like skipping stones away from the now-collapsing maw of the cavern.

                Whether it was the inferno spell, or the magics activated when the companions stole the chest of gold, the upper portion of the mountain began to collapse into itself. The mountain was returning to the earth.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

                Arnath tried to keep an eye on his companions as he plummeted down the mountain, accompanied by stones and boulders, all of which seemed to want to hit him as hard as the rocky ground on his uncontrollable descent down. The last thing he thought before blackness took him was that he had lost his grip on the hefty pack with the treasure chest inside. If was one of his companions did not have it, it was surely swallowed by the mountain, and all they had fought for, all their adventures were for naught.

*

A terrible roar awoke Arnath, and he immediately felt pain. His head cleared as he took a bleary, one-eyed look around. Reaching up quickly, he found his head bandaged, the wrapping covering one of his eyes.

Nearby, Shrakar was limply pulling his bloody arm from the crux of two thick tree branches, allowing Garthe to take over ministering of it. He must have pulled the bones back into place, anchoring it between the branches, he guessed. That’s what the scream was.

Arnath sat up and regretted it immediately. He ached everywhere. Where he didn’t ache, he was in utter agony. That he lived through the plummet down the side of the collapsing mountain felt this side of impossible. His every ache and pain disagreed. The price for his survival was a near-death pummeling.

He looked around again. Shrakar and Garthe were just over at the nearest tree, fairly close to the fire where his companions had propped him up. But where was…

                “Did we live? Did we all live?” Arnath said, looking around with great concern. Not another boon companion…

                “We live.” Shrakar nodded at him, speaking in deep croaking basso, highly-accented voice. Garthe looked up from his ministrations, cocking his chin toward where the mountain once was. Even in the firelight, the dark of night, Arnath could see that the once mighty mountain was merely the base of a mountain and a hanging cloud of dust that reached into the sky.

                “Trellith went back some time ago. Searching for the remains of the treasure.”

                Arnath’s heart sunk. “Remains?”

                A scraping along the rocky ground nearby drew their attention. Arnath reached for his nearby sword, which was not there. Shrakar stood, growled into the darkness.

                Trellith emerged into the firelight, as battered and bandaged as the rest of them. He held one of the straps of Shrakar’s pack over his shoulder, dragging it across the ground like a yoked animal.  Exhausted, dragged it within arms reach of their places around the fire and collapsed near Arnath.

                “Half.” Trellith said, righting himself, clearing the dust from his throat.

                “Half?” Arnath inquired.

                Trellith pulled a wine skin from his belt, downed several gulps and passed the skin to Arnath. “Half or perhaps less. That is what is left of the treasure.”

                “Ah. The Remains.” Arnath said dourly, and took a long drink from the skin. Wiping his mouth, he smiled wryly. “At least that is better than what is left of us.”

                “Not by much.” Trellith said bitterly as he stood, retrieved the skin and took another long draught.

                “Thank you.” Arnath said, hoping his gratitude would appease his angered friend. “Thank you for going back.”

                “One of us had to. Searched by lamplight for hours. Tomorrow the remains of the mountain will be covered with the curious from all around the countryside who saw the fire and dust cloud. Had to get some of what was ours.” Trellith said his voice trailing away. As he sipped from the skin, his eyes became distant. “Held on for as long as I could.”

                “What’s that?”

Shrakar moved near the remains of his pack. Garthe removed a green stone from a pouch on a thong around his neck, held the stone near Arnath and began to mutter an incantation under his breath until the stone glowed green. Arnath sharply inhaled, and upon a long exhalation, felt much of his pain disappear. This was the boy’s innate skill, what he brought to the party. For an untrained wizard his gifts a healer were extraordinary.

Arnath inhaled another deep breath and said, “Thank you.”

Shakar had ben searching through the tattered remains of his large pack. Much of the smashed remains of the treasure chest were still within, but it would never hold anything again. The treasure that remained was clinking around the bottom of the bag. When Shrakar emerged from his search he turned toward the other in the firelight, holding a long pipe, a poke of smoking leaf and a wineskin three times the size of Trellith’s. “It not break.” Shrakar smiled happily.

                “Well, that’s something.” Arnath returning his smile, then looking once again at Trellith. “What did you mean, “Held on as long as you could”?”

                Still watching the crackling fire as though elsewhere, Trellith took another swig and said, “As we fell down the mountain. I held onto to the pack for as long as I could. When Shrakar tackled us…”

                “I no meant to…” Said a guilty Shrakar, mid-sip from his huge skin.

                “We know.” Arnath said, a hint of his command presence in his voice. “You saved our lives. Better to fall down an angry mountain than to be consumed by the infernal fire.”

His momentary guilt assuaged, Shrakar took another sip. Trellith nodded his agreement.

                “You saved our hides, indeed. Only to have them battered by every rock on the way down the mountain. As soon as Shrakar hit us, I saw you lost your grip. I held on, letting that blasted chest drag me down the mountain and vice versa. Somehow, I don’t think it was as injured as I was, by me slamming into it.”

                “Still, you live to fight another day.” Said Arnath, receiving the skin from Trellith once again.

                “May that day not come any time soon.”

                Trellith’s words caught Arnath mid-sip, causing him to sputter somewhat. Wiping his mouth, Arnath passed the skin to Garthe, eyes taking in Trellith fully. It was not like dwarves to speak without some modicum of bravado. “What’s that, friend ?”

                For a moment Trellith stared into the fire, saying nothing. He worried a twig in his hands into small pieces, tossing them into the fire, one at a time. “For a good many years I have travelled with you, Shrakar and others. The boy being the newest member of such esteemed company. Our party have lived, fought, warred and died together. But to be killed in the midst of a task that leaves us no richer than any other we’ve survived… As the years go by, one would think, one would hope, the prizes would grow, like ourselves, richer.”

                Arnath heard the words. Felt their bitter sting. Not because a friend had suggested their time as a party was over, but because those exact thoughts had been haunting the back of his own mind for a time long before now. Once, in the wars, he had been run through with a sword. It did not hurt as much as his body did right now, even with the boy’s magic to help. How many of these fortune-seeking, near-death adventures were left? The fact they were not killed this time smacked almost of a divinity that Arnath held no faith in. Hell, they were drinking when they bought the map. They bought the map knowing it was a fool’s errand, thinking it would lead to nothing, and it had nearly killed them. What if the next quest did? Become like those skeletons, the accursed, unburied dead, no loved ones to speak kind words? Only a fool dies for nothing. Strong words spoken by his first drill sergeant before marching off to the civil war. Never more true than right now, twenty-five years later, battered body seated around the fire with his only surviving friends. Those friends would number 30 or 40 had they not gone adventuring after the wars. Who would honour the friends we lost in moments of reverie such as these if we three were to be killed chasing some foolish prize?

                Arnath nodded at Trellith’s words, eyes now locked on the fire as well.

                “What could we do, companions such as we, should our adventures be over?”

                The four sat silently for a time, Garthe sipping from the skin, knowing they were not speaking of him and the import of what was discussed. The warriors who took him into their party, despite his young age, were discussing hanging up their swords, forever. Garthe knew better than to disturb them with his tears, though he felt on-coming.

                Strangely, it was Shrakar who spoke, “When I think of old age, I think of a place. We go, long ago. Wooded but rocky hills. A ledge I could look over village. Could turn and look at the lake. People swam, played, laugh. Not too many bothered by sight of orc.”

                Garthe didn’t know what Shrakar was talking about. It must have been before his time with them. But, he could see on Arnath and Trellith’s faces they knew the place.

                “The plateau above Kroman’s town?” Arnath asked, more to confirm for himself.

                “We stocked up before going after the jewelled horn of Cromanii. The Western guard were chasing us.” Trellith said, nodding.

                “But never saw. Never came.” Shrakar said.

                “That double-back we pulled on the trail must have worked.” Arnath smiled. “Of course, they just had to show up as we entered the chamber of the horn.”

                “Leagues away.” Snorted Trellith. “I remember that valley too. Good wood. Good stone. Many metals to work with. When I think of a place to go, open a smithy, I think of those things.”

                “A smithy.” Arnath said nodding, having only heard of his friend’s ambition a couple of times before. “I liked the trading post there, I remember. No nonsense, always good advice.”

                “No maps to suicide missions like this.” Said Trellith, casting an embittered glance at the mountain.

                “What about training?”

                The three warriors looked incredulously Garthe’s way.

                “What?” asked Trellith indignantly.

                “Did they offer any kind of training at those posts? For warriors, mages and the like.” Said Garthe, genuinely curious. “How could they sell climbing hooks and ropes, and not tell parties how to make the knots, pass on what they learned?”

                “Oh, those traders weren’t warriors.” Said Arnath, stifling laughter.

                “But, you are.”

                This struck Arnath, Trellith and Shrakar momentarily dumbstruck. Until smiles grew on their faces. Arnath leaned over to look at Shrakar’s ruin backpack, and said, “Half, you said?”

                “Not enough to keep us rich for the rest of our lives. But maybe enough to set up shop for the rest of our lives. A very nice shop. With a smithy out back.” Said Trellith, already ruminating.

                “We train warriors. They come get supply, find maps. While they stay, we train.” Shrakar said

                “That’s right. And by training with the young warriors who come through, we stay in fighting shape ourselves. Old, but not old and fat.” Said Arnath, seeing the appeal of the idea.

                “That’s the spirit.” Said Trellith, standing up, reaching and snatching back his skin from Garthe.

                “I could stay with you.” Said Garthe

                “Oh, you wouldn’t want to find an elder wizard to train you, apprentice under?” Arnath asked.

                “They will come to us.” Off their quiziccal looks, Garthe elaborated, “Each party will have an experienced wizard…”

                “Hopefully.” Said Trellith, deliberately ribbing the boy.

                “Yes, hopefully.” Garthe replied, not falling for Trellith’s goad. “And each of those who come through can teach me a bit of something in exchange for their lodging.”

                “That’s well and good, but how will you pay your way?” said Trellith annoyed at the suggestion of free lodgings for one type of customer, and not dwarves at that.

                “How else? With healing, of course.” Said Garthe, pointing at the many dressed wounds around the fire. “It is a large town after all.”

                For the first time since the dreary discussion of aging out of one’s own life had started, the four of them looked at each other knowing tomorrow offered promise.

                Arnath wrapped his cloak about him and settled his back against the log. “Let us sleep. Trellith is right – this mountain will be crawling with people in the morning. Besides, we have to get to the exchange two leagues away, turn in all this gold for jots. Can’t carry all this jangling weight around and be the quarry of robbers. We’re businessmen now.”

*