have in Gascony!”
They swung in a wide arc, circling close to where they had first come down to the lake, then onward in a loop that took them all the way to the other side. Luthien was no novice with such rope swings; as a boy on Bedwydrin, he had spent his summers swinging out across the sheltered bays near to Dun Varna. He had wisely grabbed the rope up as high as he could before leaping from the ledge, but still the two would have dipped into the water if they had come near to the spot directly below the grappling hook. Only the momentum inadvertently given to them by the banging turtle head saved them from that fate, and still Luthien had to tuck his feet up to keep them clear.
As they rose on the backswing, Luthien slid a bit down the cord, extending their range. He had to let go altogether, taking a screaming Oliver with him, as they fell the dozen feet to splash into the shallow waters near to the yellowish spongy ground on the lake’s opposite shore.
Luthien scrambled up first, grabbing the rope and taking it with him as far as its length would allow. He tripped and almost lost it, instinctively swinging it hard toward a cluster of large rocks. Luck was with the young man, for the rope looped about these rocks enough so that it did not slide back into the water. Luthien regained his footing and his composure and went for the rope as Oliver ran past him toward the back exit.
Luthien skidded to an abrupt halt, though, as the turtle’s head came back out of the water not so far away. To the young man’s utter amazement, the creature opened wide its maw and breathed out a cloud of steam.
Luthien fell back to the ground, saved only by the surrounding boulders that protected him from the full force of the scalding breath. He came up sweating, his face bright red, and ran toward Oliver, who was signaling frantically from the exit. Into the corridor they ran, pausing just inside to look back toward the water.
The pond was still once more, with no sign of the giant turtle.
“My rope?” Oliver asked, looking at the cord, which was securely looped about the rock.
“On the way out,” Luthien replied.
“We may need it.”
“Then you go get it.”
Oliver looked doubtfully at the cord and at the deceptively quiet lake. “On the way out,” he agreed, even though both he and Luthien hoped to find a different way back to the wizard’s tunnel.
The halfling’s demeanor changed considerably when the two companions had put the lake farther behind them. The going was easier on this side, with the cave floors relatively flat and clear of stalagmites and rubble.
“Now we know what caused the problems to those who came before us,” Oliver insisted hopefully, even cheerily “And we have left the beast in a lake behind us.”
“A lake that we will have to cross once more,” Luthien reminded him.
“Perhaps,” Oliver conceded, “perhaps not. Once we have found the wizard-type’s most valuable staff, he will come to get us, do not doubt.”
“Have you considered that the staff might be in the lake?” Luthien had to ask. He did not think this the time for celebration or that all of the dangers had passed.
Oliver did not answer the pragmatic young man directly. He just began muttering about “lying wizard-types” and scoffing at the notion that this cave had been sealed to entrap a cyclopian king. The quiet tirade went on for many minutes as the friends crossed through several unremarkable chambers and adjoining corridors. Oliver even expanded his grumbling to include “merchant-types,” “king-types,” and several other types that Luthien had never heard of. The young Bedwyr let the halfling ramble, knowing that he really could do little to stop Oliver’s momentum.
But the sight that greeted the two as they entered one large, domelike chamber certainly did.
Oliver stood as if stricken, Luthien, too, as the torchlight was reflected back at them from a pile of gold and silver, gems and jewels, beyond anything either of them had ever seen before. One mound of silver and gold was as high as two tall men, dotted with glittering crystals and precious artifacts—goblets and jeweled serving utensils—probably dwarvish in make. As if in a trance, the two moved into the chamber.
Oliver shook the stunning surprise out of his head and ran toward the pile, stuffing his pockets, tossing coins into the air and