Lord of the Rose (43 page)

Jaymes spun, his sword in his hands, but he was too late. A large, gray rock tumbled into place, blocking the doorway as neatly as a cork in a bottle.

They were trapped.

J
aymes and Dram hurled themselves at the boulder, driving their shoulders against the slick stone surface, legs pumping, boots churning on the muddy floor as they strained to move it out of the way. They gasped and grunted, strained and cursed, finally collapsing.

The rock hadn’t budged an inch.

“It weighs too much. You’ll never be able to get it out of there. Even the dragon spawn can’t move it. Only Sheedra can,” Salty Pete explained.

“Who in Reorx’s name is Sheedra!” demanded Dram, between gasps for air. He sat in the mud, his back against the immovable rock.

“She’s the black dragon who lives here. She uses that rock to keep me locked in when she goes away. Now I guess she’s using it to keep you guys locked in here too.”

“Why hasn’t she killed you?” Jaymes asked, shaking his head. “Two years in a dragon’s lair must be some kind of record.

“Oh, she protects me, actually. The spawns would have pulled me apart and eaten me up right away, if not for her,” Pete admitted.

“Why?” asked Sulfie, as she glanced at the various kettles and cauldrons around the firepit.

“I think she wanted someone to talk to. She even sings, a little, and the spawns don’t care about singing or talking. They’re pretty stupid.”

“Great. Violent and stupid, too. How many spawn are there around here anyway?” asked Dram.

Pete shrugged. “Maybe twelve. Or a few more. They all look alike, so it’s hard to count them, and some are in the lair while others are always prowling around in the swamp. I never see the whole group of them all together.”

“It’s so terrible, you being kept prisoner down here,” said Carbo.

“Well, it hasn’t been so bad. Sheedra lets me eat better than her spawn,” Salty Pete explained. “Probably because I keep her fire going, and I make her stuff. I think that’s why she had the dragon spawn capture me. They can’t build and can’t cook either. Like I say, they’re pretty stupid.”

The little gnome’s face brightened proudly. “She really likes my frog chowder.” Then his expression darkened, and he shook his head sadly. “Not that I would recommend it. Nothing like the carrots and lettuce we used to get in Dungarden. And beef! Oh, I remember beef!”

“Tell us more about Sheedra,” Dram encouraged.

“Well, she’s a black dragon, like I said. I think she’s been living here a long time—one of her songs is about fighting the Golden General in the Lance War. Her friends all got killed in some big battle, and she got her wing burned off and crawled into the Brackens and made this her hideout. She’s lived here since then.”

Salty Pete scratched his head. “Let’s see. She’s enormous. And mean as a snake. Except that she brings me stuff, so I can work. She’s taken a liking to me, I guess. She got me these cauldrons and kettles and sends the spawn to bring me plenty of firewood. The spawn frighten me, but they’re more scared of her, so they don’t hurt me. They bring me plenty of frogs, so I can cook them up. I’ve grown partial to frogs.”

“Dragon spawn’re left over from the days of the Overlords.
Came here to hide, maybe during the war, maybe before,” the dwarf guessed, looking grimly at Jaymes.

The warrior nodded. “You guess there are about a dozen of them close by, maybe more?”

“Yep. They come and go. Sheedra does too. Like I said, she likes to sing her songs. She tells us that we’re all her children, but the spawns don’t listen much. I admit I do, though. Passes the time.”

Pete sighed, slumping his shoulders. “After she sings, she puts that rock there.”

Jaymes had been studying the massive boulder. He crossed the room to poke around the long workbench. He found a sturdy iron bar, as tall as he was, and went back over to the barrier. Dram followed him, bringing a stout kettle, which he inverted to serve as a fulcrum. The warrior jammed the edge of the pry bar under the rock, then balanced it on the upturned pot, trying to exert some leverage. Even with both of them leaning on the bar, straining with every sinew, the huge stone wouldn’t budge.

“We’ll never pry it loose, not without this Sheedra’s help,” Dram said in disgust, backing away from the boulder and glaring at the big stone in fury. Jaymes, his face slick with sweat, agreed.

“Peteeeeey?”

The voice, soft and yet thunderous, rising musically at the end, penetrated through the rock to fill the smoky air in the workshop. The companions all looked to Salty Pete, whose eyes had grown very wide. He gulped and cleared his throat.

“Um … yes, Mistress Sheedra? I’m in here,” the gnome called out in an exaggerated sing-tong tone.

“Yes, Petey, but who is in there with you? Are they bothering you? Are you afraid of them?”

“No, I’m not afraid, Mistress. These are … these are some old friends, who have come to see me.”

“Petey … remember, I am your best friend. You remember, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes Mistress Sheedra. I certainly always remember that you are my friend. My very best friend!”

“Other friends are not true friends. Others are nasties … do you have nasties in there with you?”

The gnome looked helplessly at his siblings, at the human and dwarf. “No, Mistress Sheedra … not nasties! Good friends. Um, not as good as you, though.”

“Sheedra
is Petey’s best friend. Not nasties who come through swamp. Not friends, nasties.”

“No … nasties are not my friends,” Pete answered, with an apologetic look at his would-be rescuers.

“Petey? Sheedra is Petey’s best friend. Only Sheedra.”

“Um, yes Mistress Sheedra. That’s right, my only best friend.”

“Others are nasties. Will you kill them? Or shall I?”

“Good idea, but maybe you should leave the killing to me,” the gnome stammered. “Um, yes. Give me a little time. I’ll … um … I’ll kill them all. Or else let you know if I need help.”

“That’s so sweet of you. I’ll wait right here, Petey … you tell me if you need me to help you kill them.”

“I’ll tell you, for sure!” promised the gnome. “Now I’ve got work to do. I have to get busy, um, killing my frien—I mean, killing the nasties?”

“All right, Petey … you are such a good worker. I will wait here and perhaps slumber a little as I wait.”

Salty Pete turned back to his visitors. “We have a problem,” he whispered. “Of course, I really don’t want to kill you.”

“That’s a relief!” Dram muttered. He shook his fist at the obstinate boulder. “We gotta figure out a way to move this rock! We have to get out of here!”

“You’ll never move it,” Salty Pete confirmed, whispering back. “It would take an earthquake, an explosion, or something.”

Carbo looked up suddenly, glancing from his brother to his sister. “Now there’s an idea.…”

“Do you think we could try?” Sulfie asked, shivering.

“We can make some of the old reliable compound. If we get
the mixture right, that would set her back on her heels,” Carbo said.

“Pap’s compound?” Pete said. “I thought about that already. I’ve been thinking about that for years, but I don’t have any yellow rock.”

“Hey, guess what? We brought some sulfir with us,” Sulfie said. She held up the bag she had carried since they had departed the hill dwarf valley, nearly a month before. “There’s lots more coming, but this might be enough for a small batch. Let’s put our heads together and give it a try!”

“There’s charcoal over there, plenty of it,” said Carbo. “What about you, Pete? You got your necessary stuff? I though we smelled the familiar smell, coming through the swamp.”

“What do you think I’ve been so busy making all this time?” asked their long-lost brother, crossly. “Of course—I have kettles and kettles of the saltpeter over there. Nothing much else to do, except cooking frogs into batches of chowder. So let me see that sulfir.”

“Here!” Sulfie encouraged.

“How long do you think it will take?” Dram asked, nervously glancing at the boulder in the doorway.

Carbo shrugged. “Not long. A couple hours, maybe.”

“How soon until Sheedra’s likely to, er, wake up or lose patience and come in and check on us?” Jaymes asked.

Pete looked up. “Could be any minute. More likely days, but we’ll hear her when she starts to move that boulder, that’s for sure.”

“Right,” agreed the warrior. “Best get to work, then.”

Quickly the three gnomes got started. Pete selected an empty cauldron for the final product, while Carbo collected a series of measuring cups, and assembled a small balance scale. Sulfie started to grind some of her yellow rock into powder, using a large mortar and pestle, while Carbo scraped charcoal from several charred logs, and Salty Pete added small portions of his saltpeter from one of his kettles. Dram and Jaymes warily watched the boulder at the door, which
fortunately exhibited no signs of movement.

For a long time the gnomes worked in busy contentment, grinding and sifting, measuring and weighing, adding carefully determined amounts of the three ingredients to the large kettle. They took turns stirring, re-sifting, and thoroughly mixing, increasing the amount until they had used up nearly all of their supply of sulfir.

“Yep,” Carbo said finally, peering into the cauldron after they had mixed and remixed it extensively. He reached down, critically examining the black powder within. “That certainly resembles the stuff Pap used to make.”

“Well, the other batch looked like the old stuff, too,” Dram noted sourly. “It just fizzled and smoked, if you recall.”

“We didn’t have Pete’s help when we made that version, did we?” Carbo retorted.

“What next?” Jaymes asked impatiently.

“We put it in something, fill it up, and seal it. One of those casks will do. We jam that down by the rock, then set a fuse, light it, and … I guess we’d better hide real good, too,” Pete said. “We want to blow the rock up but not ourselves. Right?”

“Right,” Dram agreed.

“Petey?” The bustling activity froze at the sound of Sheedra’s voice. They all looked at Salty Pete.

“What is it, Mistress?” he asked, with a gulp.

“Did you kill the nasties yet? Do you need my help?”

“Um, no, Mistress. Soon. I am figuring out an especially painful way to do it.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“I will tell you when they’re real dead. Soon, all right?”

“All right, best friend.”

There turned out to be enough powder to fill three casks, right to the top, so they did so, sealing all of them tightly with wax. “The tighter the seal, the better the blast, Pap always used to say,” Carbo said approvingly. “I think one of these will be enough.”

“What about the other two?” asked Pete.

“We take ’em with us,” Jaymes suggested. “Let’s pile some dirt around them over in the corner.”

Finally they had one keg positioned, while the other two were, hopefully, insulated from the anticipated explosion.

“Let’s light the fuse, and then go down that hallway and around the corner, far into my room. There’s a storage closet in the back where we can shut the door and hide,” Carbo said. “You might want to put your hands over your ears, too.”

Pete turned his face to the massive rock. “Oh, Mistress?” he called. “Mistress Sheedra?”

“Yes, Petey?” came the sibilant response.

“Put your ear real close to the rock. You will hear me torture the nasties before you hear their dying screams.”

“Oh, Petey. I like that.”

They quickly made a fuse out of the same black powder. After a final examination of the keg, Pete touched a spark to the line of powder, which immediately began to fizzle and pop, burning toward the keg. The companions dashed into the hall, around the corner, and down the narrow hallway into Pete’s small sleeping chamber. They were barely able to jam themselves into the small closet and pull the door shut, lacing their hands over their ears, before they heard a stunning explosion that rocked the closet, knocked the wind from their lungs, and left their ears ringing.