The Berserker and the Pedant (5 page)

"Why do you dwell within these tunnels?" asked Gurken.

"Some say it's because I'm thrall to a powerful wizard and guard his treasure. Some say that I protect a fair virgin in the center of the maze. Sadly, the truth is much more mundane. I'm lost."

"Lost, you say?"

"Lost. I cannot find my way out of here."

"Well, then! You are in luck, for I have some small knack for finding my way out of the underground."

"Well, then, if you do help me find the way out, I shall forever be in your debt."

"Not at all, just..."

"Yes?"

"Just help me carry my fine friend here, Arthur, out of the labyrinth and discover the whereabouts of Pellonia and then I would consider the debt paid."

"Pellonia? The young one that took off to the left?"

"You have it exactly."

"Ah, well, that is problematic. You see that is the way deeper into the labyrinth. She will come first to an intersection, and - why, if she goes right, then she will be lost."

"And if she goes left?"

"Well, then, if she goes left, not only will she be fine, she'll return this way in some time."

"In that case, let's sit here and enjoy the company of one another, for I have a strong suspicion that she'll come along this way. Hello, what is this?" It was at this exclamation that Gurken noticed Arthur's scrawlings on the floor and walked closer so as to better observe them. After observing they were of some import, he considered them, and upon some time spent in profound consideration, he even understood them.

"Huh. It appears one cannot just turn right."

"A centaur!?! Really? That's the best they could do?" asked Arthur, a furious scowl upon his face. He stood in the temple stable, a small building hewn from rock that had but one room. Arthur and Pellonia currently resided within, as well as some covering of hay. On the wall were some clasps, once used to secure gardening instruments, but which now held a brush with a long handle and a large file used for the shaping of hooves.

Pellonia regarded Arthur. "At least the horse half is on the bottom," she said, "and all white. Hey! You might be half-unicorn!" She squealed with delight.

"That is none too helpful."

"The priests said you've died so many times that it's getting to be a lot of work to keep mending you. They also had to mend Throkk and Gimnur and all this mending is hard on them. It was this, or nothing. Besides, it's not forever."

"What do you mean, it's not forever?" Arthur asked, his long equine tail swishing. "You mean this will wear off?" He gestured towards his white equine hindquarters.

"Well… not exactly. You see…"

"Yes?"

"Well, the next time you die, they promised to mend you up right."

"Next time? They're just assuming I'll be killed again?"

"You've died three times in the last four days. Seems a rather fair assumption."

"Hey!"

"Is for horses." Pellonia snickered. "Come now, we must go to the blacksmith and get you some shoes."

Episode Five

The Berserker and the Centaur

"This is so ridiculously, contemptuously, and flabbergastingly unfair." 

Arthur, in his newly mended centaur body, trotted alongside a gloriously ornamented white opaline carriage, encrusted with golden inlays, onlays, overlays, and outlays. Arthur crossed his arms in protest. Pellonia and Gurken, sitting on plush, well-cushioned velvet seats, peered out of the carriage. Pellonia stuck her arm out the window, holding a platter of sweet cakes. Antic lay upside down in the middle of the platter, covered in crumbs. A solitary treat sat unmolested where dozens had lain before. 

"Duh hu wahn un?" Pellonia asked, mouth stuffed full of cake.

"Seven days! Seven days we've traveled without event! Even my hooves are sore! Who knew hooves could get sore? I didn't know, and I'm a wizard. We usually know things."

Gurken plucked the remaining treat off the tray, eating it in one gulp and swallowing with the assistance of a large stein full of mead. "You are correct, dear Pellonia, he does whine overly much." He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and surrendered to a large belch.

Another face appeared from inside the carriage, the face of a nobleman. He was resplendent with gold and jewelry. "Once more, Arthur, I feel obligated to apologize. I'm very sorry, there's just not enough room in here for someone of your considerable, hmm… what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Mag-neigh-tude?" Pellonia provided.

"No, I-"

"Oat-versized? Hay-mungus? Tower-rein?"

"Enough-gh!" Arthur neighed, quickly covering his mouth with one hand. Pellonia laughed, and even Gurken smiled.

"We're here," Arthur said. "Thank the dwarfen gods, we're finally here. Observe, the entrance to the Mines of Moog."

A rusted and ruined rail track ran through a small valley between two not overly large hills, continuing into a cave dug into the side of a cliff. Weeds had grown up, over, and around the tracks, and a mining cart lay overturned, rusting in front of them. Bones of various creatures lay sorted in piles strewn about the entrance to the cave, a pile of femurs here, a pyramid of skulls there.

"Well, then," said their noble traveling companion, "here is where we part ways, I'm afraid. Gurken, Pellonia, Arthur, you have my gratitude for allowing me to accompany you this far on your quest. I have quite the story to tell the archduchess. She will not be able to resist me after this tale of my bravery and adventure."

Our compatriots said their fare thee wells to the good nobleman, thanking him for the ride, the refreshments, and the company. They watched as he rode away in his carriage.

"I do think I'll miss his sweet cakes most of all." Pellonia sighed.

The three turned to face the mines, well aware that within they would have the chance to perform many brave deeds of daring, facing dangers unknown. Should they survive, their deeds would be immortalized in song and tales, and a powerful artifact of the temple, the Orb of Skzd, would be reclaimed. Fail, and they were far, far from any help, any aid, any succor. Die and they would remain deceased. But did they pause? Did they hesitate? Did they entertain any notion of delay on their quest?

Out of the mouth of the cave lumbered a figure so large it had to hunch over and squeeze through the opening. Small boulders were loosed from above as the cliff rumbled in complaint at the rough treatment. The rocks bounced off the creature and thudded to the ground. The hills shuddered against the creature's strength. Its flesh, swampy green and moist, seeped a elven steel colored fluid out of small pustules all over its body. It's claws, as long as Gurken's legs, scraped against its fangs as it picked something out of its teeth. The creature dislodged a chunk and casually flicked it away. It landed in front of them and rolled to a stop at their feet. It was a severed hand.

"Trolls," Gurken whispered. "Arthur, perchance might you magic us a ball of flame? Or cause it to fall into a deep slumber?"

"Um, well, as to that…" Arthur stammered. "I'm afraid not."

Gurken furled his brow. "You've spent ten years in wizarding school, wizard. What did they teach you?"

"Well… mostly grammar. I'm afraid that I'm only of the tenth rank. Wizards don't get to the really good stuff for another thirty ranks or so. Besides, I don't have an orb to focus magic."

Gurken stared at the wizard, unable to comprehend what the wizard did the honor of telling him. The ground trembled as another troll pushed through the cave's opening. "Aahm ungry," it bellowed.

"Maybe," suggested Pellonia, interjecting, "we should find someplace to rest the night, and enter the mines in the morning?"

"Yup," Gurken agreed, nodding with approval a bit too quickly. "One ought not enter a dungeon without being fully rested. At the top of one's game, as the elfs say."

"Indeed," said Arthur, stamping a hoof. "Let's follow that trail up the hill and see if there is an area of sufficient comfort and discretion where we may set up camp." They scurried up the trail, taking care to remain out of sight.

After walking some distance and reaching the top of the hill, our brave adventurers came upon a tiny hovel; that is to say, a small building made of dried mud, covered with a thatch roof, and having a door constructed of twigs.

"Hullo," Arthur called. "Is anyone home?"

"Hush!" Pellonia said. "Who knows what dangers lurk within? There could be more trolls!"

"Trolls? In there?" Arthur pointed down at the hovel door. "The door can't be more than four feet tall. Don't you think a troll would build something a bit larger?"

"They could be box trolls," said Gurken.

"What's a box troll?"

"They're like trolls" - Gurken stuck one hand out flat, holding it as far above his head as he could reach - "but smaller." He moved his hand down to waist height. "They tend to live in boxes; hence, box troll."

"So, not a box troll then," Arthur said, gesturing toward the hovel.

"Oh, they could be country box trolls. It is rather difficult to find a box so far out of the city."

Pellonia nodded at Gurken's wisdom.

Arthur clenched his teeth. "It's… not… a box troll," he said.

"Fine. Fine," Pellonia said. "Please, continue then, by all means."

Arthur was about to continue when a pile of twigs crested over the side of the hill. They watched the pile of twigs move toward them, its forward progression arrested by bumping into Arthur's leg. The pile grunted. A small humanoid face popped up over the bundle of twigs. Gray hair protruded from his ears and nose and surrounded his face in a peppery mane. His eyes bulged out of his head when he saw them and he gave out a yelp, throwing the twigs in the air. He was naked, though a thick tuft of hair concealed any naughty bits. And he was dirty, very, very dirty. And small, no more than two feet tall. At the most. He took off in a sprint as the twigs came raining down around them.

Before he had gotten three strides, Arthur grabbed him by the hair - on his head - and lifted him into the air.

"Box troll?" Arthur asked.

Gurken sighed. "No, this creature is remarkably more disgusting and annoying. It's a knoll dwarf."

"What's a knoll dwarf?"

Gurken frowned. "The most cultured and majestic of dwarves is the mountain dwarf, of which I am one." Pellonia and Arthur crinkled their brows at the thought of Gurken being considered cultured or majestic. "We build our cities in mountains; hence, mountain dwarf. Hill dwarves are far rougher, uncultured creatures in comparison. They don't build cities; they build villages. Can't fit a city in one hill, you see. Knoll dwarves" - he pointed at the creature - "well, one can't fit more then a single family on a knoll. They're quite uncivilized, feral creatures. He probably has rabies."

"I don't have rabies!" said the knoll dwarf in a high-pitched squeak, swinging his fists through the air.

"He talks!" Gurken said, mouth agape.

"Of course I talk!" squeaked the knoll dwarf. "What do you think I am? A mound dwarf?"

Pellonia looked at Gurken in askance. Gurken closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Put me down!" the knoll dwarf peeped.

Arthur set him on the ground.

"What's your name?" Pellonia asked.

"Moog," he said. "I'm a mender."

"A mender?" Arthur asked. "We could use one of those." Moog grinned.

"Oh no," said Gurken, shaking his head and pointing at Moog. "I'm not traveling with that." Moog frowned, his head and shoulders drooping.

"Gurken!" said Pellonia. "Be nice!" Moog raised his head and smiled. She turned to Moog and said "Moog, we're looking for an orb about yay big." She cupped her hands together. "It probably looks very valuable."

Moog just looked at her with confusion in his eyes. He scooped up a ball of mud and handed it to her, smiling.

"Ug, no. You know, an orb. A sphere? It's like… a ball. Round?"

Moog shrugged.

Gurken rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the twigs and drew a small circle in the dirt. Moog's eyes lit up.

"Yes! I know what that is!" said Moog.

"You do?" asked Pellonia.