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Leading the group of completely average humans through the dwarven tunnels all the way here from Cowdenbeath had proven to be more of a chore and annoyance that he had expected, the Mysterious Hermit of Cowdenbeath (their words, not his) scoffed, as he searched the wall for the lever he knew was somewhere there, which would open a passage that led out of the cellars and into the wizard tower.
Zargothrax clearly had, at some point, become more of a cluttery mess than Ralathor was. Normally, that would have been a source of quite the amusement, were things not as dire as they currently were, with Zargothrax apparently having decided that invading cities with armies of undead unicorns and kidnapping princesses was an appropriate pastime activity for a wizard. The rooms that had, in past, served as a place to stash winter supplies and maybe a barrel or two of a beverage of choice, were now full of random rubbish both in chests and crates, not to mention broken tools and miscellaneous items scattered in-between, and Ralathor had had to move one of the crates away from the spot he remembered the entrance to be, before he could even begin looking for a way to open the secret door.
The prince – Angus was the name, Ralathor recalled – had been standing in the other door leading deeper into the cellars for a moment, thinking himself either stealthy or polite when in reality he was neither. Stealthy people did not stomp around like bovines during mating season, and polite people did not barge into other people’s space of living and make themselves at home there while the master of the house was absent.
(Yes, he was still upset about the last part. Anyone would be, provided they did not like returning home to find random strangers in their living room.)
- Uhm… Ser Ralathor?
Somehow, that sounded even worse than being addressed as “the Mysterious Hermit of Cowdenbeath”, but Ralathor figured, he had to be grateful that he was not being assigned one of the really lengthy titles that royal brats were so fond of.
- Yes, Angus?
- Uhm, so… - the prince scratched behind ear, then clutched the Hammer of Glory in his hands. He was clearly feeling like a fish out of water right now, and the hammer served more to reassure him than to threaten anyone.
Ralathor hoped that, once the moment came, to use the weapon, this kid was actually going to do what he was supposed to, instead of standing and making calf eyes at Zargothrax. He was well aware that the wizard was not going to be inclined to treat any of the intruders with kindness, and the prince even less so.
The feeling did not leave him that this… Angus… was not taking the situation as serious as he ought to, even after the knight who accompanied them had given His Highness a stern lecture about all things heroic, or rather, the ugly side of all things heroic.
The knight had finished his lecture with a deep sigh and a heartfelt wish that once, just once, he would like to hear of the fates choosing a hero who was not just barely an adult. As it were, these mysterious “fates” that people loved referring to were obviously content with the status quo of pitting children against feral goblins, angry trolls and dark sorcerers. At least this one had been given a couple of magical artefacts, a dragon, and a barbarian companion which was more than most of said kids normally got.
As long as the prince served his purpose, Ralathor found that he did not much care about opinions, legends and people fated to do great things.
- Is something the matter? – the hermit eventually prompted, for this… youth, for the lack of a better word… was obviously not going to speak unless he got a clear sign he was expected to.
- I just… - Angus rubbed the back of his neck, clearly smitten about something, - Hoots found the Legendary Mirror of Life Trapping in the other room.
Huh.
So, Zargothrax had been able to track down one of those. That certainly explained that one month a few decades ago when things had been relatively peaceful, and the wizard – suspiciously quiet. And, of course, once he was done studying it, he had promptly banished it to the cellars until he found a better use for the artefact. If ever, for Ralathor assessed there had to be at least a dozen Mighty Mysterious Artefacts down here that Zargothrax had grown bored of and piled them up in the basement, instead of taking up space upstairs.
- The Hootsman can detect magic?
Perhaps, just perhaps, these folks were not as useless as he had imagined.
That hope, however, faded as soon as Angus put up a most innocent expression on his face, while his eyes became suspiciously shifty, and with that, the realization dawned on the hermit.
Ralathor groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
- Let me guess; he’s inside the mirror right now, isn’t he?
Where else would this Hootsman be? It was not like not touching strange things in the cellars of towers belonging to evil wizards was considered common sense.
- Yup!
Of course.
- And you, of course, want me to get him out?
- Yes, please, - Angus nodded, - if it’s not too much trouble.
Ralathor had known: offering to conjure that light back there in the tunnels was going to come back to bite him in the ass.
He just did not expect it to happen so soon.