Free Into the Void (The Dungeoneers) by Gavin Chappell Page B

had weighed down on him like some kinda monkey on his back since he was fourteen. He gazed idly across the blue, shimmering, sparkling water, and out at the glimmering sky.
     
    Then at the pinkly scintillating women lounging by the bar.
     
    ‘Sittin’ on the dock of the bay,’ he sang, off-key. First Brian, then Percy, then at last even Norman took up the song.
     
    Percy began to whistle.
     
    EPILOGUE: SOME TIME LATER
     
    At Percy’s desperate shout, Gerald whirled round, his blade glimmering in the single shaft of light that pierced the burial mound’s musty gloom. The barrow wight reared triumphantly above him, warhammer raised.
     
    Gerald flung himself to one side as the weapon smashed into the grave mould at his feet. Quick as lightning, he hacked through the thing’s wrist. The skeletal claw clattered down on the gems and coins of the open treasure chest that lay between Gerald and his necrotic foe.
     
    With a wild scream, Brian brought his axe down on the barrow wight’s skull, splitting it like a rotten egg. Percy and Norman rushed forward, hacking madly at their opponent, dismembering its black, withered body.
     
    But the separate parts began slithering and scrabbling across the black earth towards each other. To no avail, Gerald stomped frenziedly on a tattered leg.
     
    ‘It’s trying to reform again!’ Percy shouted.
     
    ‘Grab the treasure chest!’ Gerald told him. ‘Grab the chest and leg it out of here. King Rat said that if we replaced the rock door, that thing won’t be able to follow us out of the tomb chamber. Quickly!’
     
    Percy and Brian grabbed either side of the rusty, glyph-inscribed treasure chest, slamming it shut as they did. The scattered members wriggled around them, still struggling to come together.
     
    ‘Now get up the shaft!’ Gerald shouted. He and Norman stood panting beside the rough-hewn stone archway as the other two adventurers staggered through, groaning under the weight of the great chest.
     
    Gerald and Norman watched, open-mouthed, as the barrow wight rapidly reformed under their bulging eyes, lacking only its right hand. The remaining claw searched the floor for the fallen warhammer.
     
    ‘Time to go,’ Gerald said grimly. They turned, and followed their two friends up the muddy shaft.
     
    ***
     
    With a reverberating crash, the great boulder rumbled down to block the gaping barrow mouth. Dusting their hands, Gerald and Norman staggered back as it settled back into place, and looked around the clearing.
     
    The forest was silent except for the mournful soughing of the night wind in the treetops. The moon sailed high in the star-strewn skies above. A few yards from the great barrow, Percy and Brian halted, slamming the chest down in the earth beside them. They turned quickly at the scrambling approach of Gerald and Norman.
     
    ‘Let’s not hang around.’ Gerald panted. ‘The barrow wight can’t get out, but I don’t reckon this area is going to be too healthy right now.’
     
    Percy dashed the sweat out of his eyes.
     
    ‘Well, you can carry that thing,’ he said wearily, indicating the chest. ‘It’s heavy!’
     
    ‘Gladly,’ Gerald replied with a grand gesture. ‘It’s heavy because it’s full of loot.’ He grabbed one end, motioning Norman to take the other. ‘When we get this back to civilisation, we’ll have it made - food, drink, women... everything we’ve ever wanted. No more sleeping out in the cold, wet woods.’
     
    He straightened up, struggling under the weight of the chest. Percy was right - it was heavy. But he was right, too. They had it made. Nothing could go wrong this time.
     
    ‘Let’s get back to the camp,’ he wheezed. ‘We can bed down there for the rest of the night, then head on down to Cosht in the morning.’
     
    ***
     
    The Mountains of Morning seemed a sinister prospect at high noon; gnarled, tree-swathed crags brooded above the vale and mist hung like steam from the cauldrons of a thousand