Chapter 10: Elm, Wealthy Halfling Thief!

Treasure! Pulling on his studded leather armor, and picking up his sword and shield, Elm eyed the opening into the cliff. He could almost see the gleam of precious gems, the glitter of silver and gold at its end. Treasure! The Hoard of the Nimmu'e! Some random association brought up long-buried memories. Year-Day feasts, and presents around a household shrine flitted through his mind, too fast and too faint to really notice. He'd been barely toddling, but the rich smells and happy sounds were still there, buried deep beneath layers of cold and hunger from the back alleys of Pordigran. To be rich! To be able to buy what he wanted, instead of stealing! To never be hungry again!

"Not so fast," Bartan cautioned as he headed for the tunnel opening. "Make up some torches, first. We'll go in battle order, as always."

"But... The treasure!" He started to protest, then brought himself under better control. "Yeah, you're right. Here's some dry branches we can use. Treasure..."

With makeshift torches held on high, the Company advanced cautiously toward the mouth of the passage. Heavy doors of stone, carefully shaped to look like a part of the cliff when they were closed, were inspected to make sure that they would not swing shut, trapping them inside. They paused once they were well clear of the entrance, letting their eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. Outside, the sun was down, and gathering clouds made it even darker by filtering the crimson light of the dying day.

"Nothing here," Bartan muttered. "Just a tunnel leading straight in."

The reddish stone reflected back the light of their torches. The air in the tunnel was still, the smoke from their torches hanging heavy against the rounded ceiling, and he caught a faint spicy odor, perhaps the smell of the Nimmu'e. There was barely room for them to walk two by two, and Elm thought that if something did attack them they would be at some slight disadvantage. He muttered a few words of prayer to Ialpioc...

"There is a room, we come to," Gwinny whispered.

Sure enough, the tunnel opened out ahead of them. Elm peered over Gwinny's shoulder, crowding forward from his position at the rear of the column. Darrick flashed him a warning glance, and he dropped back to where he could watch out for enemies who might come at them from behind. The tunnel was dark, and he could only barely make out a faint reddish light that seeped in from the darkening sky. A gust of wind eddied around the mouth of the tunnel, making the flames of their torches dance. Another pair of doors closed the room off from the tunnel, but they stood ajar. Bartan and Darrick examined them closely to make sure that they could be opened easily from the inside, then closed and barred them.

"Nothing can sneak up on us, that way," Elm thought to himself. "How about other directions?"

"Tunnel ends here," Gwinny announced, her Goblin eyes piercing the gloom with relative ease. "Nothing but little holes from this room."

Elm only half-heard her. He pushed forward again, the pile of treasure in the center of the room filling his thoughts. The light of their torches reflected back from the polished stone of the domed ceiling, revealing a room that was at least forty feet across. The floor was in the shape of a seven-sided polygon, its regularity telling of the long hours of labor that had gone into its making. A lovingly fashioned tower of red stone blocks dominated the room, and treasure was heaped in random piles around the altar at its base. There seemed to be hundreds of tiny bags and boxes, intermixed with loose coins, gems, and other objects whose nature was not immediately apparent.

"Surely," Bartan breathed reverently, "a hoard worthy of any dragon out of legend."

"But no dragon around to guard it. And it's ours!" Elm's face wore a grin that felt like it might threaten his very ears. "That's what their leader said, wasn't it? To take what we wanted from it?"

"To take what we could use, at least" Darrick amended. "Remember, we have far to go, and no knowledge of what lies between us and our goal. Don't burden yourself beyond what it is safe for you to carry. Hasten, but choose wisely!"

"Do you think, then, that the Nimmu'e will be back?"

Tarr asked.

"Well, not for a while, at least. Remember, they'll have to clear away a lot of loose rocks to reach the door to the caves. After that, it's anyone's guess how long it'll take them to wake their God. Or what It might command them to do."

"But they will be back?"

"I'm sure of it. There must be relics of theirs, things that they'll want to move to their old city. Also belongings. Tools, food, spare weapons, things like that. Yes, they'll be back, and I think we'd be smart to be a long time gone from here when they do." Darrick moved a few steps closer to the hoard, eyeing it speculatively. "Be careful. There could be danger here in spite of Ildeer's words."

Torn between caution and greed, Elm edged forward, drawing his sword. At once, he was almost overwhelmed by the knowledge of how much treasure there was. Knowledge that seemed to flow up his arm from the sword in his hand. Coins of all kinds. Some old and worn, others as new as the day they were minted. He poked at a stack of silver pieces, jumping back as it tumbled with a musical crash, and gaped at what it revealed.

"Platinum!" he gasped. "Look here! Piles of platinum coins. Must be Elvish. Do you recognize them?"

His interest diverted from the bag of gems he'd just opened, Darrick bent to look at the handful of coins Elm thrust at him.

"Elvish, all right, but I can't read the lettering. Must be from one of the earlier empires. If so, they could be a million or more years old. Platinum doesn't tarnish, not like silver. Now, let's stop wasting time. We could spend a ten-day just looking at all there is to see here. There don't seem to be any traps. Each one of us take one side of the pile, and sort out what seems to be the most valuable. Pay no attention to silver, or even gold. Look for platinum, loose gems, and jewelry. Set aside anything that might be magical, and any weapons or armor that might be special. This could be our chance to pick up what we need to get back through the wild lands in one piece. Dump all of the gold and silver out of your packs. We'll carry nothing but platinum, except for a handful of gold, silver, and copper to spend along the way. Come on, get to work!"

He didn't need to be told twice. Elm burrowed into the treasure, picking out whatever caught his eye and sweeping the rest aside. Objects he didn't recognize were stacked together, to be looked at by Tarr or Darrick. Weapons and armor went into another pile. At last he was satisfied that he'd found everything he could. He drew a deep breath and sat back on his haunches, looking around to see what the others had come up with.

"There's more here than a dozen of us could carry," Bartan laughed, regretfully. "And I don't suppose that there's any chance that we'll ever be able to return for the rest. At least, this'll be something to remember and tell tall tales about for the rest of our days."

"Best not to be greedy," Darrick answered him, but Elm hardly heard. His thoughts were too full of the treasure spread out before him, and he was frantically trying to decide what to take, what to leave behind. "All right, let's push all of the things we've found into piles."

The platinum coins made a spectacular heap. They didn't have the luster of gold, nor the sweet chiming of silver, but any one platinum was worth at least ten, maybe twenty gold coins of the same weight. To one side, in the light of the torches they'd stuck into piles of lesser coins, a heap of loose gems competed for their attention with a lesser pile of jewelry.

They sorted and compared, seeking to assemble the most valuable items for their weight and bulk. When they were done, their packs were smaller than when they'd entered the chamber, but just as heavy and many times more precious.

"All right, take a break," Darrick commanded, and he realized just how tired, hungry and thirsty he was. A few bites of smoked meat, washed down with a hearty swig of water, though, and he was satisfied. There was so much treasure here! They'd barely touched the surface.

"I have find... Have found swords and armor. Some, at least, we can use."

Elm reluctantly turned to the pile of loot that Gwinny displayed, crowding around with the others, his pack full of treasure neglected for the moment. When he returned to Pordigran, the MostHolyCity, he'd be rich beyond his wildest dreams, but first he had to get there!

Gwinny had already picked out a finely gleaming suit of armor, one that looked as though it had been crafted for someone exactly her size and build. It was of some blue-glinting metal that he wasn't familiar with, light and strong, and hard enough to turn the edge of most swords. With a practiced eye, he immediately picked out a tunic made of linked metal rings, of the sort usually spoken of as 'chain mail', discarding his studded leather armor for this new find. It was but little heavier than his old armor, and if it did make more noise when he moved, well, that was a small price to pay for its much greater protection in battle. When he returned to Pordigran, he would think about replacing it with more familiar gear. Or would he? with his riches, he wouldn't need to sneak about, unseen by his potential victims!

Off to one side, Bartan was looking covetously at another set of plate mail, but after long thought put it aside.

"What's wrong? Don't you want it?"

"It's not that." He looked down, frowning at Elm who was admiring the way his new mail hung. "It's just that it gives me no more real protection that what I already have."

Looking closer, and comparing the new armor with what Bartan already wore, Elm had to agree. The controversy between users of plate and chain was an old one. Plate armor was heavier, and more confining, it was true. Yet chain, even reinforced with strips of metal as was Bartan's, needed heavy, and hot, layers of padding if sword blows were not to crush flesh and break bones.

"Keep whichever you prefer," Elm counseled. "Hey, Gwinny. What did'ja find in the way of weapons?"

"Only these." She slung a quiver of cross-bow bolts over her shoulder, pulling one out to show them the keen metal point. "And this. I think it is a weapon."

"Let me see it." Darrick turned the mace over and over, looking carefully at it as though he'd never seen its like. The haft was covered with delicate traceries, looking in the wavering torch light as though it had been made from the body of a great serpent, and the head... Elm thought that he wouldn't be surprised if the jeweled eyes looked at him and the mouth full of fangs opened with a menacing hiss.

"Is it... ?"

"Magic?" Darrick nodded. "A fine weapon, but in my hands it is even more. The Gods do indeed smile upon us this day. This night, rather. What else do we have here?"

"Here's something you may be able to use." Tarr handed Elm an ornate ring. Placing it on the middle finger of his left hand, he found that it fitted snugly, yet not so snugly as to be uncomfortable. It was of some ruddy metal, not copper or brass, but too hard to be gold, and was set with eight tiny chips of ruby, evenly spaced.

"What does it do? Is it, too, magic?"

"Yes, and of a potent kind. With its help, you can persuade others to do as you wish. You may use it eight times, once for each of the gems set into it. Each time you use it," she warned, "one of the gems will crumble."

He watched as she handed a miniature case with several vials to Darrick, and tucked several other items into her belt-pouch.

"Is that everything?" Darrick looked around at the piles of treasure and unknown items.

"All that will do us any good," she answered. "There are many more things here, but none that I recognize. It may be that they only have power when used by the Nimm-Chr'Snkt."

"Then let's get moving!" Elm smiled gratefully at Tarr. Things were going well for him, the last few days. Good things were happening, and she was one of them. He'd thought several times on their journey that she regarded him warmly, but she'd never shown it until now.

He could detect no sound from beyond the heavy doors, but they were all on guard when Bartan pulled them open. Their torches were down to mere stumps, giving little light. Outside the tunnel, rain was falling. Not a light rain, either. The wind had risen while they were gathering treasure, and they emerged into a full-fledged storm.

"Might as well go back inside," Darrick decided when their torches guttered out. "We'll get nowhere trying to travel on a night like this, so we might as well stay dry."

Elm slept soundly, his head pillowed on his pack. He awoke during the night, when Bartan called him to take his turn at sentry-go, then slept again until Gwinny woke him at first light. The rain was still coming down, but the wind had slacked off some by the time they headed on down the broad river valley. They moved quietly, the only sounds the faint squelching of damp moss underfoot and the jingle of armor and weapons.

Lunch was only a pause in a small grove of trees, just long enough to relax and chew strips of dried meat. They refilled their water flasks at a tiny rivulet, and moved on. They had gone only a short distance when Bartan held up a warning hand.

"Smoke ahead," he cautioned.

They ducked back into the shelter of a nearby grove of trees, some kind of nut-tree, Elm thought. He could see the smoke, now that Bartan had pointed it out, rising from another grove, and he thought that he could hear the sound of harsh voices.

"What do you think?" Bartan looked at Darrick for guidance.

"It's too far to go around, if we don't have to. Too much open ground. Whoever, or whatever it is, has a good chance of spotting us, and then we'd be at a disadvantage. There's enough brush between us and them. We'll sneak up on them, surprise them. Remember, parley if we can, attack if we must."

A shallow gully provided cover for most of the way. They moved swiftly, silently through the grass and tall brush, and reached the grove of trees unobserved. The voices were louder, now, and he thought that he recognized the language.

"Hobgoblins," Tarr confirmed his guess. "Not much chance for parley."

The Company crept forward, slipping from tree-trunk to tree-trunk until they could see the hulking creatures around their fire.

A half dozen Hobgoblins, intent on whatever nasty business it was they were doing. Grunts of pleasure, and snarling laughs. Something small was lashed to a stake, something that squealed, twisting and writhing in a vain attempt to escape. For a long moment, Elm wondered whether Darrick would signal for a retreat, but six of them shouldn't be too many. At Darrick's nod, they readied their weapons.

"Hit them!" Three of the enemy fell as Tarr barked out the words of a spell, and then their missiles filled the air! Screams and shouts rang out, but there was time for him to loose a second leaden bullet from his sling before the Hobgoblins could rally. Darrick cursed as the thong of his sling parted, but Elm uttered a satisfied grunt as the one he'd aimed at slumped to the ground, its face a bloody mask.

Only two of the creatures were still on their feet. They looked about wildly, as though minded to flee, then charged to the attack. Gwinny and Bartan braced to meet them, flanked by Darrick and Elm. Bartan parried a wild swing, and Elm's sword bit deep as their opponent staggered off balance. Darrick's new mace rang against armor, but Gwinny staggered back from the other's attack, though she didn't seem hurt. Saved by her new armor? Both Hobgoblins were wounded now, and the Company pressed the attack. Elm struck again, but too late. Bartan's sword had already cut their opponent down, and the battle was over. Elm leaned on his sword for a moment, drawing in deep breaths of cool, moist air.

Gwinny was at his side, making sure that the downed Hobgoblins didn't rise again, and they quickly searched the bodies for valuables. The bodies yielded up a double handful of coins, some gold along with silver and copper, and Elm found a whole bag of gold coins tied to one's belt.

"Hey, look at this," he called, tossing it to the ground. "Wonder what they were going to spend them on."

"Never mind that," Darrick answered, bending over the small creature that the Hobgoblins had been tormenting. It looked as though it might have been one of the Nimmu'e, but even as they cut the thongs that lashed it to the stake, it quivered and died.