We lowered ourselves into the barrowmaze on a block and tackle — slow, steady, and sensible. The lamps swung and the ropes creaked while the sound of the surface faded. When our boots finally touched the packed earth below, the air was cold and smelled of old things. We pressed forward into unexplored corridors, careful to mark our path and avoid needless rushing.
Soon after we passed through a large, empty chamber that echoed our footsteps like empty bowls. Beyond it lay a smaller room with a visible cave‑in along one wall: a heap of fallen stone in one corner of the room. One good jolt would bring the whole lot down. We noted the danger and moved on; unstable passages are useful only if someone plans to use them as a trap.
To the north lay a large chamber with a roof held up by four large pillars. Between them was a mess of fallen stone that looked like a rat’s nest. It was a mess: bone and metal and leather and a heap of rubble like a collapsed pantry complete with the family silver. We were prodding at that pile—everyone thought treasure, of course—when that long, wet hiss rolled down the corridor. The snake came like a shadow with teeth and swallowed Theowyn whole.
When the scraping started and dust began to rise, I had two bright ideas in my head at once: a quick Sleep to quiet the snake, or Mage Armor to keep my brittle hide from being shredded. Sleep would be neat—quiet the big thing, maybe let Perch stab it while it drooled. Mage Armor would keep me whole. I stood there with my hands itching to cast either, weighing which coin to spend, and then I chose the sensible one: Mage Armor. If the snake woke grumpy, I preferred a layer of magic over a surprise nap that might fail.
I wrapped the shimmer of Mage Armor around myself and felt a little safer, like being inside a tin box held together by the Old Tricks.
If you’re reading this and expecting bravado, wrong goblin. I am Wyz, and I prefer my spells to serve me alive.
Once it was busy with Perch’s clumsy sword, I thought about getting closer to strike. The snake’s body eased along a low rubble mound and I could have climbed it, but climbing that heap meant being cut off and pinched between rock and beast. So I skirted along the wall instead, creeping forward on careful feet, keeping as low as a gob can. The torch guttered and went out—naturally at the worst moment—and I paused, listening to scales move and Theowyn’s muffled sounds. I still did not want to climb the pile if I could help it.
After a long moment of arguing with my own courage, I moved closer along the floor, close enough to spit at the snake’s flank. I whispered the words for Sleep and sent them along on the same breath I used to curse aloud. The magic slid toward the snake like a snare…and did nothing. The beast’s scales shimmered, and the sleep bounced off as if the snake had a mind made of stone. For a goblin who counts spells like coins, that was an ugly loss.
When the fighting was done and the snake lay still, the others began to dig through the piles. I muttered and muttered and decided to try Detect Magic before we shuffled every scrap into our pockets. If there were trinkets or glowing bulbs of power hidden in the rubble, I wanted first crack at them. I swept the little circle of detection over the mound and around the pillars. Nothing. No hum, no faint glow, no trapped charm. The pile was full of copper and bent bits of metal and old leather, but not a single sparkling thing for me to take home.
Still, one of my minions found a small pouch—nothing like the big prizes the others dream of, but six dull gems will buy a few handfuls of odd components. I told myself next time I would try Sleep first…or maybe not. Better safe than dead, and a live goblin casts twice more tomorrow.
