Raggard and Po
There was a strange scraping sound coming down the tunnel that caused Raggard to freeze in place.
In the deep tunnels, there was always the chance of running across a predator… or worse.
His hand went to the haft of his battle hammer as he dimmed his lamp to near darkness. The sound drew closer. Now he could hear more than scraping — labored breathing, faint muttering, and the continued drag of something heavy across stone.
Raggard peered around the corner into the next tunnel and caught a glimpse of what was coming.
He nearly laughed aloud.
Instead, he lifted his lamp and stepped forward. The light fell on a single goblin, hunched low and straining to pull a sack nearly twice his own size.
It took a moment for the goblin to realize he was no longer alone.
When he did, he shrieked.
He clearly wanted to run — but he did not want to abandon his prize. He bounced from foot to foot, glancing between Raggard and the dark tunnel behind him. His mouth worked soundlessly, panic shining in his wide eyes.
“No kill. No kill!” the goblin finally blurted.
“Not steal. I dig this!” he added quickly.
Raggard stifled another laugh.
“I won’t kill ye,” he said. “If you show me where you dug this up.”
He tried to sound fierce. He suspected it was not working.
“I show you… I keep bag?” The goblin’s voice trembled, suspicion and fear tangled together.
“Aye. Show me, and you keep it.”
The goblin hesitated only a heartbeat.
“Come. Bring bag.”
He turned and shuffled back the way he had come.
Raggard lifted the sack and was surprised the little creature had managed to drag such weight at all. He slung it over his shoulder and followed.
They took three more turns through the winding tunnels before reaching a small cavern, its walls split by hundreds of narrow fissures.
“In the holes,” the goblin said, pointing eagerly.
A single glance was enough.
Several of the cracks were packed with gemstones — dozens of them — glittering in the lamplight. Raggard nodded slowly, his breath catching despite himself.
When he turned back, the goblin’s hand rested on the hilt of a small, battered knife.
Raggard was not sure whether the creature had been about to attack… or simply feared that the dwarf would.
Raggard shook his head and glanced at the hammer in his hand.
The goblin sagged with visible relief and slid the knife away.
“How much would you sell the bag,” Raggard asked quietly, “and this find, for?”
The goblin tilted his head.
Raggard tried again. And again.
It took several attempts before the meaning finally landed.
“You want give coins for bag, yes?”
“You want give coins for holes, yes?”
“Yes!” Raggard boomed — then caught himself and softened his voice. “Aye. Exactly.”
“How much coins?”
That question proved harder.
The goblin could not count.
After several fruitless tries, Raggard gathered loose stones and stacked them into a mound.
“This many coins.”
The goblin stared at the pile.
It was very large — not as large as the sack of gems, but far more than the goblin had ever imagined holding. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. It felt too good to be true.
At last, with what he clearly believed was a clever stroke of bargaining, the goblin split the pile into two smaller heaps.
“This pile copper,” he said, pointing proudly.
“This pile silver.”
Raggard considered the stones with great seriousness.
In truth, he had planned on gold and copper. But if this was the goblin’s demand, he would happily agree.
“That is a great many coins,” Raggard said at last.
“But I accept.”
He offered his hand.
The goblin jumped back — then slowly understood. He crept forward and took the dwarf’s fingers in a careful, uncertain shake.
“What is your name?” Raggard asked.
“Po. Kneewater Clan,” the goblin replied.
Then, after a pause, he added, “Good business.”
Raggard smiled.
“Aye. Good business indeed.”
He drew food and a water skin from his pack and placed them beside the sack.
“I will return in three days with your coins. You will stay here?”
“You leave bag. I stay,” Po said firmly, crossing his arms.
“Agreed.”
Raggard nodded.
“I will return in three days, Po.”
On the third day, Raggard returned to the small cavern.
The sack of gems remained exactly where he had left it.
Po did not.
Raggard did not call out — shouting in the deep tunnels invited attention he did not want. He considered the empty cave in silence. It was possible Po had been chased off by a predator… though any thinking creature would have taken the gems with him.
He settled onto a flat stone and drew out his journal, making a few notes about the journey back from Gunabash.
There was little to record.
Other than the missing goblin.
A faint scrabble of loose stone stirred at the edge of his hearing.
Raggard closed the journal.
Another scrape followed — from the far end of the cavern.
“Well then,” he murmured, lifting his hammer.
“Come on, whatever ye are. Let’s have it done.”
“No kill, Po, Thornbeard!”
The voice was small. High. Familiar.
Raggard lifted his lantern.
Po’s head protruded from a narrow fissure nearly ten feet up the cavern wall.
“What are ye doing up there?” Raggard asked.
“Hiding,” Po replied.
His eyes suddenly widened.
“From that.”
Raggard turned.
A beast the size of a great wolf crawled into the lamplight — a hideous cross between slug and centipede. Rows of hooked legs clattered across stone. Thick mandibles framed a mouth crowded with jagged teeth.
Raggard recognized it at once.
Slug bug.
He set his lantern down and brought his hammer up in both hands.
The creature did not hesitate.
It reared, dozens of spiked legs lifting at once — and then hurled itself forward.
Steel met chitin.
The hammer crushed down against its forelimbs, and the beast shrieked as Raggard struck again. It writhed and twisted, striking with blinding speed. One moment instinct drove its attack; the next, long years of training guided the dwarf’s defense.
Spikes tore at Raggard’s guard.
The monster drove him back.
He stumbled and dropped into a low crouch — just as the slug bug surged over him.
Its mandibles snapped downward.
Raggard jammed the hammer’s head into its open maw.
The impact cracked through the cavern.
The beast reeled, thrashing violently as it tried to tear the weapon free.
Raggard roared.
His short sword flashed from its sheath and carved deep into the creature’s exposed body. He hauled with all his strength and dragged the blade through its length.
The slug bug collapsed in a final, hissing shudder.
Raggard wrenched his hammer free and wiped both weapons clean.
“Come down, Po,” he called.
“It’s safe.”
Po climbed carefully from the fissure and approached the corpse. He looked from the monster… to Raggard… and back again.
“Can I have?” he asked.
“For food?” Raggard said.
Po nodded eagerly.
“Food for whole clan.”
“Aye,” Raggard replied with a small smile.
“You can have it.”
“Now,” he added, setting down his pack, “let’s talk business.”
He produced a small pouch and spilled its contents onto the stone floor.
Two neat piles formed — one of copper, one of silver.
Exactly as promised.
Raggard added more beside them.
Rope. Cloth. Furs. A handful of sturdy tools.
Po stared at the growing collection in disbelief.
“Magic bag?” he asked, pointing to the pouch.
“Aye. A magic bag,” Raggard said. “You put things in. When you want them back, you think of them.”
He showed Po how it worked.
Then he drew out the final gifts.
A small mining pick, balanced for goblin hands.
And a long, narrow knife with its sheath — nearly a short sword for Po.
Po held them both in silence.
Then he looked up at Raggard.
“Let me show you one more thing,” Raggard said.
He uncorked a small vial and poured its contents onto a smooth patch of stone. The liquid hissed and burned, carving a precise sigil into the rock.
The Thornbeard mark.
Raggard placed his palm upon it and read softly from a narrow scroll. When he finished, the parchment vanished.
The mark flared bright green.
“If you ever find another cave like this,” Raggard said gently,
“come here. Touch this mark. Speak my name.”
“‘Raggard.’”
Po nodded slowly.
“It will tell me you are waiting,” Raggard continued. “I will come as fast as I can. Wait two days for me. Do you understand?”
It took more than one explanation.
But in the end, Po nodded again — firmly.
Raggard gathered the great sack of gems into another magic bag and slung it across his shoulder.
He turned toward the tunnels leading back to Gunabash.
“Raggard.”
Cold magic rippled through the cavern.
Raggard turned in surprise.
Po stood with one hand pressed to the glowing mark.
Raggard laughed.
“Aye,” he said warmly.
“It works, my friend.”
He raised his hand in farewell and headed home.
