My prediction had been correct about the amount of loot in the treasury, and we were blatantly not going to be able to take all of the treasure. The gleam of gold and the glitter of gemstones filled every nook of our overflowing inventories, each piece whispering promises of wealth and danger. Eigosh had been muttering in a low, gravelly tone about getting a cart to load up with more golden coins. The clink of metal and soft rustle of fabrics accompanied his dreams, though deep down he knew that this was all that we could take. I estimated that everybody's inventories were now full of gold and jewelry—mine certainly was, a heavy burden that shone under the flickering torchlight.

  After clapping me on the shoulder, his rough, scarred hand leaving a fleeting warmth on my skin, the orcs departed in a hurried, lumbering manner, their guttural voices echoing off the stone walls. Their departure was punctuated by the sound of heavy boots and the distant rumble of a long-run toward regaining their honor—a journey that, with every gruff grunt, hinted at the possibility of reaching the orc army, though I doubted they could manage the grueling two weeks of travel ahead.

  With a heart buoyed by the sight of the departing orcs and my own treasure-laden inventory, I was just about to ascend the ancient, creaking stairs when Sharro appeared like a sudden gust of wind. Her presence was marked by the soft, determined tap of her leather-clad hand on my shoulder and eyes ablaze with fiery intensity. In a voice that was both fierce and tender, she declared, “I’m going to rescue Jessika from the king’s grasping hands. Nobody, not even a noble, should have to be subject to that kind of treatment. Will you come and help me?”

  I stared at her in astonishment, taking in every detail of her anger—a vivid tapestry of resolve etched into her weathered features. I wondered why she was so determined to rescue someone who, by all accounts, didn’t even care for her. Would the nobles extend the same compassion if the roles were reversed? I mused silently. The earl's daughter clearly harbored a mutual disdain for me, yet the look in Sharro’s eyes was so resolute that it promised her success regardless of my participation.

  “Hmm,” I sighed thoughtfully, “I’ll help. But, first, let’s see if Xaset is up for some more adventure. He seems to be crazy enough to do anything.”

  When I mentioned our plan to Xaset, his eyes sparkled with manic enthusiasm, and he was as eager as ever for another escapade. The rest of our motley crew, intoxicated by the allure of gold, were only interested in escaping the palace with their newfound riches.

  Within minutes, the others had scattered like startled birds, leaving Xaset and me waiting at the bottom of the ancient stone stairs for Sharro. The early hours of the morning draped the palace in a cool, misty silence, yet we both felt the urgency of the night’s mission.

  “The women in the king’s ‘collection’ were boasting that the uppity noble girl was in the palace prison with her father,” Sharro informed us, her voice low and conspiratorial as if the very shadows were listening.

  “Do you know where the prison is?” Xaset asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “It might be useful if we know where to go.”

  “No idea,” Sharro replied with a playful stick-out of her tongue that softened the tension, a gesture that mixed defiance with a hint of mischief.

  “I guess that we'll just have to find somebody who knows and ask them politely,” he said with a roguish smile. “I’ll lead the way to a less deserted area of the palace and find somebody there who's willing to help.”

  No sooner had he spoken than his energy propelled him upward along the worn, spiraling stairway. I easily kept pace with him, though Sharro, weary from the long day, began to lag behind, her breaths coming in soft, measured exhales as we ascended slowly.

  When we arrived at the top, I marveled that our clamor had not awakened the entire palace. The quiet murmur of sleeping courtiers and the occasional creak of ancient wood offered a strange symphony of calm after our daring heist. Once we left the staircase area, which I had illuminated with a modest glow from my staff, I noticed that Xaset ambled confidently through the pitch-black corridors as if they were bathed in daylight. Sharro and I, however, fumbled in the dense darkness, bumping into cold stone walls and scattered relics until I produced a small magical light. The orb hovered in my palm like a softly flickering candle, casting just enough radiance to guide us behind the fast-moving fire-breather.

  We crept along the rough stone corridor, its surfaces slick with age and etched by the hands of time, as though it had been carved from the very bedrock of the earth. Soon, we found ourselves back in the more populated part of the palace. Climbing a final, steep stone stairway, we wandered through the plain, utilitarian passageways of the servants’ quarters until we reached a dormitory-like area lined with heavy wooden doors.

  Xaset, ever the scout, pressed his ear against the first door. “I can hear snoring coming from here. Let’s try this room,” he murmured, his voice barely above the rustle of his worn boots on stone.

  I dimmed the magical light until it was a mere whisper of luminescence, and as Xaset slowly crept open the door, we were met by a cramped, cell-like room. A threadbare bed occupied by an older man whose heavy snores filled the space, and a battered chest of drawers completed the scene. I felt a pang of pity for the poor soul; the lack of a window left the room in perpetual gloom, a stark reminder of his lowly station.

  Without a word, Xaset moved swiftly to the sleeping man, pressing a calloused hand over his mouth. I closed the door quietly behind us, the soft click of the latch echoing in the silence. The man’s eyes snapped open in alarm, his features contorting in panic as Xaset’s grip held him fast. The tension in the air was palpable as Xaset flashed a gleaming gold coin in front of the man’s wide, fearful eyes. “All we want to know is the location of the palace prison,” he said, his voice edged with both menace and a roguish charm. “I’ll even give you a gold coin for the trouble.”

  The man, hypnotized by the shining coin and the desperate promise of escape from his misery, nodded eagerly. “Good. I’ll let you go, and you can tell me,” Xaset continued with a sly smile as he released his grip, adding in a low, commanding tone, “Money first.” He pressed the coin into the man’s trembling hand, and with a quick, almost instinctive motion, the man shoved it into his mouth and swallowed it, the metallic taste mingling with his fear. Xaset chuckled, remarking, “Good place to keep it.” The man then offered us simple directions to the prison—a location unsurprisingly close, hidden in the depths beneath the palace. As we left, the man either fell back into a fitful sleep or feigned it, as if desperate to erase the memory of our intrusion. For good measure, I cast an immobilization spell on the door, freezing its catch in position for a few precious hours. I hoped that by then, our mission would be complete, and any lingering questions would dissolve like mist in the morning light.

  With clear purpose, Xaset led the way through the labyrinthine lower levels of the palace until we reached a well-lit hall. A sturdy wooden door at one end, sealed and barred, promised escape to the outer grounds, while at the opposite end, a steep stone stairway descended into the cavernous depths of the earth. An oil lamp flickered atop the stairs, its feeble glow barely penetrating the shadows until, at the bottom, a solid iron-clad door with a grating at eye level loomed before us. We crept down the worn stone steps toward the door, and once again, the sound of snoring reached our ears from the other side.

  Peering through the narrow grating, Xaset whispered, “There are three guards. One is snoring, the other two are sitting at a table, gambling. Do you think that you can cast an immobilization spell on them?” He moved aside, allowing me a clear view. I nodded, positioning my face against the cold metal of the grate, and began to weave the intricate strands of magic through my body. As I projected the spell, the two gamblers, seated too closely together, froze in unison, their expressions twisting into masks of terror as the magical lines encased them in stasis. The sleeping guard, still ensnared in the hypnotic drone of his own snores, was dealt with by another subtle spell, his disturbance barely noticeable as he continued his mechanical breathing.

  “My turn with the door,” Xaset declared, bending down to scrutinize the ancient lock. Sharro watched with wide-eyed amazement as Xaset’s burning, hot fire breath danced across the lock, its searing heat melting the metal into soft, slag-like drippings. The transformed lock gave way, allowing us to push the door open with a groan of ancient hinges. We swiftly moved into the room, scanning for any further threats. The prison was sparse—a single large hall with six cell doors—yet the two immobilized guards watched us with haunted, terrified eyes.

  Xaset leaned toward me and whispered, “I’ll deal with them.” Grabbing a heavy wooden club from a nearby weapons rack, he strode into the field of the immobilization spell, which, strangely enough, seemed not to hinder him. One by one, he struck the guards over the head; the resounding thuds and the flash of their shields were soon silenced by unconsciousness, leaving the way clear for us to move on and free the prisoners.

  Meanwhile, Sharro methodically searched the cells, peering through the metal gratings of each door. “It’s only the earl and his daughter in here,” she said with a triumphant smile as she retrieved a set of iron keys from a hook on the wall and unlocked the two cell doors. I heard her soothing, reassuring voice speaking to Jessika as the latter hesitantly emerged. Clad still in her once-glamorous finery, Jessika’s expression flickered between gratitude and bewilderment. Her eyes darted between Sharro and me as she murmured, “You two are the last people I thought would rescue us.”

  “Do you want to wait for somebody better?” Sharro retorted with a hint of sarcasm, her tone echoing off the cold stone walls.

  “No,” replied the earl with a light chuckle that belied the tension in his furrowed brow. “You’ll do fine. It's just surprising.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Anyway,” I interjected, “You can thank us later, but at the moment, we should be getting out of here as I think we’re at the limit of our luck for tonight.” The relief was evident on everyone’s face except the earl’s, whose eyes narrowed in grim determination. “You take Jessika to safety, but I’m going to see if I can find the king. If I can take him captive, then all of this mess and a potential civil war can be avoided.”

  “Surely not, Father – it’s so risky,” Jessika protested, her voice laden with concern as she glanced at him.

  “I must, as this may be the only opportunity I have to prevent the king’s traitorous betrayal of the kingdom. Now that the dwarves have seized the crown, it's not going to end well. The nobles will never stand for direct foreign involvement in our politics. This will only incite them to march on the capital, and civil war never turns out well for anyone,” he declared solemnly.

  After a moment of heavy silence, the earl turned his pleading eyes to Sharro. “Would you be so good as to take my daughter to safety? My wife will pay you well for your services.”

  I was braced for a refusal, yet Sharro simply nodded, her expression softening. Then the earl looked at Xaset and me, his tone now a mix of desperation and hope, “Would you two accompany me in this task?”

  Before the thrill-seeker Xaset could interject, I quickly addressed the man, “With one condition: that you ensure the kingdom pays its yearly tribute to the orc empire.” The words hung in the air, as the assembled group looked on in stunned silence—until Xaset burst into laughter, his booming chuckle resonating through the corridor. “No wonder the orcs ran off first. That explains a lot of what you’ve been up to, but why? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

  “Sure, you can guess when we have some time, but we don’t have all day,” I said, turning back to the earl. He simply smiled and said, “I’m happy with that condition, as it's what the southern lords want anyway.”

  “You have two willing men at your service, sir,” I declared. Xaset’s ever-crazy smile widened, his eyes glinting with the promise of more adventure.

  ––

  The women had left us in the dimly lit hallway after Jessika had given her father a tender, almost reluctant, hug goodbye. There were no tears in her eyes as she and Sharro departed through the door to the outside world, the metallic clank of the door echoing behind them. Sharro cast one last, knowing smile in my direction as she stepped out. “Be seeing you around. Don't be a stranger to me,” she called softly.

  As the door swung open, the distant cacophony of shouting grew louder, mingling with the chill night air that carried the scent of impending conflict. The earl’s face darkened with worry. “Let’s hurry, as fighting may break out soon. Let's just hope the king is in his quarters. Men, be prepared for a tough fight as this will not be easy.”

  I mused internally, “That works for me, as tough fights are becoming my specialty.” My thoughts were mirrored by the gleeful smile on the fire-breather’s face beside me. The earl retrieved a weapon from a nearby guard rack in the prison hall, while I quickly formed several shimmering magical shields that enveloped him in a protective aura. He smiled gratefully, and we set off in search of the king. Sharro had mentioned that some of the women kept by the king insisted he would be up later for more ‘entertainment,’ and she had given us directions to the locked apartments where these women were held.

  Xaset resumed his signature blend of agility and stealth as he led us through the labyrinthine servant passageway until we emerged onto a second-floor corridor. Soon we found ourselves before a plain door marked with a sign reading, ‘Northern Passageway: Women's Quarters.’ The fire-breather slowly opened the door, and through the narrow crack I could see a subdued glow spilling into the corridor. We paused, listening intently for any sign of alert—a hushed silence confirmed our safe passage. Xaset then crept through, whispering, “All clear,” in a tone as soft as the rustle of silk.

  Following closely behind, we advanced into a corridor illuminated by the gentle hover of magical lights near the ceiling. This corridor was a magnificent contrast to the dull, utilitarian passages we had just left behind; here, swirling marble patterns adorned the walls, and a luxurious red patterned carpet stretched down the center with gleaming exposed marble flanking it. Elegant alcoves housed marble statues—figures so heroic and divine that I first wondered if they were ancestral kings, only to quickly suspect they represented the gods and goddesses worshipped in this opulent realm. The ceiling boasted a lavish trimming of gold, and along the walls, vivid paintings depicted mythic scenes, their colors as bold and passionate as the deeds they commemorated.

  “Very ostentatious man, your king,” Xaset whispered to the earl, whose low growl at the lavish display spoke volumes about his disdain for such extravagance. We continued our measured walk down the corridor, passing more priceless artwork that only seemed to intensify the earl’s simmering anger. Then, just as we rounded a corner, the murmur of distant voices reached our ears.

  “You would think that tonight of all nights he could forgo his visits to his ladies,” a deep, resonant male voice remarked.

  “Have you seen the ladies inside?” another replied.

  “Good point—as I’ve seen some of the women, and they are beautiful, but as you know, we're never to go inside,” the first voice retorted.

  “If you had women like that waiting on you hand and foot, would you miss a visit?” the second queried.

  The earl smiled bitterly and said, “The gods are blessing us—he’s here.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he bolted, and we raced after him. Rounding the corner in a flurry of motion, I caught a glimpse of the earl colliding with a guard; both tumbled to the ground with a thud that echoed in the marble hall. I channeled my magical energy swiftly, casting a spell that sent chains of shimmering energy locking a second guard in place just as he was about to plunge a spear into the earl’s back. Xaset, not wasting a moment, lunged forward and struck the frozen guard with the flat side of his ax. The impact was so forceful that the man’s eyes rolled back, his body slumping like a broken marionette.

  Meanwhile, the earl had delivered a vicious head-butt to the first guard, knocking him senseless, before vaulting himself and smashing into a door. The door burst open with a cacophonous crash, and he rushed inside with determined urgency.

  I cast a quick glance around the ‘women's quarters’—a realm of opulent debauchery that surpassed even the grandeur of the public corridors. Silk draperies, soft as whispered secrets, cascaded from the walls, while statues and erotica-themed paintings adorned every available surface. Xaset remarked with a wry grin, “Interesting king you have. He seems to be quite the connoisseur, not just of food.”

  Then, as if summoned by fate, a side door burst open and the king emerged half-naked. I found a moment’s relief that it was only half; however, the sight was still enough to send a shiver down my spine. Behind him, the desperate wail of a woman pierced the heavy air. The king’s face contorted from fury to surprise as he caught sight of the angry, looming earl. With the precision of a seasoned warrior, the earl seized the slender, trembling king and pressed a dagger to his throat.

  “Tell me why I should not kill you at this moment,” the earl demanded, the cold blade glinting ominously in the dim light. A solitary drop of blood slid down the king’s neck, and suddenly, a bell began to toll somewhere in the labyrinthine palace—as if an alarm had been sounded for all to hear.

  “Let's get out of here!” Xaset shouted, his voice urgent as he signaled for the earl to drag the king into the corridor. The king was roughly hauled along, the dagger still threateningly at his throat. Xaset and I hurried behind as he led our captive down the grand staircase toward the lobby. At the foot of the stairs, I caught sight of royal soldiers sprinting up the ornate stairs, their armor clanging like thunder.

  The earl bellowed, “Keep back or the king's dead!” His words were accompanied by a sharper thrust of the dagger into the king’s flesh, and a thick stream of blood began to flow, painting his regal attire with stark crimson.

  “Do what he says!” the king shouted, his voice panicked and desperate. His plea caused most soldiers to hesitate, though a few still advanced. “For the goddess’ sake, do what he says! He’s got a dagger to my throat!” The final commands rippled through the ranks until the remaining soldiers froze and then began to retreat slowly away from the stairway. We descended cautiously, now encircled by soldiers on all sides, with more reinforcements arriving in the corridor. At length, we reached the grand, towering doors of the palace. Xaset, nimble and assured, unbarred them and pushed them open.

  Stepping out onto the cold flagstones, I was met with a sight that filled me with dread: hundreds of dwarven warriors were advancing in tightly organized columns toward the palace entrance, their full armor glinting under the faint starlight and broad shields held resolutely at the ready.

  Oh crap, I thought—this just got very serious.

  The king screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking as he implored the approaching warriors to retreat, even as the earl twisted the dagger deeper into his flesh. The dwarven warriors ignored the king’s commands completely. We moved forward onto the flagstones, flanked by soldiers at our backs and dwarven warriors forming an impenetrable shield wall in front of us. Soon, we found ourselves hemmed in on every side by the determined forces of dwarves and the king’s men.

  I broke the heavy silence with a wry smile, “Looks like we’ve got a good old Mexican standoff.”

  “What the hell is a Mexican standoff?” Xaset asked, his tone light and curious as if the gravity of the moment were merely a sideshow.

  I pointed to the warriors surrounding us and replied, “I guess this is a good definition.”

  “What’s the normal end to a Mexican standoff?” he inquired further.

  “If I remember correctly, it’s a confrontation in which no strategy exists that allows any party to achieve victory. Any party initiating aggression might trigger their own demise, while none can extricate themselves without suffering a loss,” I explained, my near-perfect memory lending precision to my words.

  “I wonder if this will help,” he mused, and in that instant a brilliant flash erupted from his body, as if igniting a nuclear blast. For a heart-stopping second, a blinding light enveloped us all. When my vision cleared, I saw Xaset glowing with a dark, blood-red aura. His form began to change—growing larger, his features twisting into something both alien and magnificent. A long, sinuous tail unfurled behind him, and massive wings erupted from his back, each feather seeming to carry the weight of ancient legends. His head elongated, reshaping into the fierce, unmistakable visage of a...

  “Dragon!” one of the dwarves shrieked in terror, his voice quivering like a leaf in a storm.

  That was what it looked like—like a scene ripped straight from a movie, a colossal black serpent with immense wings and an enormous, imposing body. And then, with a deep, resounding roar, he exhaled torrents of fire. How fascinating—and terrifying. It certainly explained a great deal about my friend. I wondered in amazement how I had never noticed before. Perhaps it was because, in this mad, unpredictable world, nobody ever mentioned that dragons existed!

  I gaped, utterly fascinated, at the roaring, fire-blasting dragon who was as enormous as several houses stacked together. The remaining soldiers, the earl, and the king stood frozen in sheer terror as they witnessed this miraculous transformation. Then, predictably, as one, all the soldiers dropped their weapons and fled, their retreat hastened by several powerful blasts of rolling flames that cascaded across the night sky.

  When the chaos subsided, only the king and the earl remained—both trembling with fear, though the earl still clutched the king tightly, his dagger pressing unyieldingly against the exposed skin of his captive’s throat. Then came the deep, resonant voice of the transformed Xaset, echoing magically in my mind: “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome here. Shall we go?”

  The command left no room for argument. With a final, firm grip, one of his mighty front claws clutched me. Then, with powerful, rhythmic beats of his enormous wings, he soared into the air. Within seconds, we were flying high above the ancient city, the cool night air rushing past us as we headed east, leaving behind the chaos and treachery of that fateful night.