"The Puppeteer" by Chris Michael Poole

The Seven had been riding for hours on end south to their destination, and they were already approaching he desert where the mines lay. Despite their heavy deerskin cloaks the cold penetrated and chilled their bones. Riding had become much harder do to the sand and the already exhausted horses slowed to a trot. Using the stars as their compass the Seven, led by Raven, made their way south east until in the distance, a huge chasm in the sand could be seen. Dark smoke and dust from the quarry was rising from within it.

As they neared the mines the sun began to shine over the desert like the eye of a dragon bringing with it strong gusts of wind. The sand began to rise and swirl around them as the sand in a tipped hourglass. The thieves were forced to hide their faces in their cloaks.

"Keep in a straight line. If you lose track of the horse in front of you stop and wait for the wind to die down! We’re almost there," Raven yelled to the rest of the group hoping everyone could hear.

"This is awful timing!" Thistle choked on the sand that grit in his throat.

"No, no, no," Thorbern shook his head. "Think of it this way. The gate will be off guard with the chaos of the storm. It’ll be much easier to get in."

Behind another cloak Red had a hideous grin on his face. Any moment now he could see himself slashing down a dwarf or snatching the powerful relic from one of them. This was the kind of moment he lived for.

Suddenly the group halted. a large white washed stone wall with an iron gate stood in their way. The sand beat off the wall showering the thieves with tiny pebbles. Raven dismounted his horse and approached the gate, his long black hair flailing in the air like a hundred snakes. Sword in hand he bashed the gate open and found himself in an empty courtyard, sand littered the ground in small footprint like patches. On the opposite side of the courtyard there were two large iron double doors. As the rest of the group followed Raven in and tied their horses down they noticed that the doors were decorated with a storyboard. On the left door was a picture depiction of the mines on the right there was a excerpt from an ancient tome.

"Its written in East tongue the language of the wizards." Burr observed.

"Can you read it?" Raven questioned.

"Yes its a bit unclear but I get the drift." Bur paused and then began to read after a prodding stare from Raven.

"The land is born and new again,

The blade is safe and sound.

All hidden in the dunes of sand below the rocky ground.

And tales will rise anew one day,

When the blades recovered from the clay,

And brought into the light of day,

To the mourning mountains crown."

"We’ll see about that." Said Red brandishing his sword, "There won’t be any tales if there’s no one to tell them."

Martin turned away from Red’s piercing glare. Hopefully this would be a quick in and out deal, no messes.

"In we go," using the hilt of his scimitar Raven knocked on the door and waited for the reply. There was none. Again Raven banged on the door and once more the knock was not returned.

Raven sighed and sheathed his weapon, "Brace yourselves against the door were going to push it open."

The others did as Raven commanded and on the count of three they used their strength to push open the heavy door. After several hopeful creaks the door lurched forward on its rusting hinges. There was a scratch of metal on metal and an arm sword in hand swung out the door. It was pale and lifeless, cold to the touch.

Martin shuddered his fears were confirmed. The Dark Lord had sent someone and that someone was probably already in the mines.

Raven, who wasn’t phased by the severed limb, stooped down to examine the wound, "This wasn’t done with an ordinary sword or any weapon for that matter. It appears to have been ripped off the body itself."

The group was silent.

"But," Raven continued, "This is the work of one scout not more than that. We can handle one.

Without a word they pushed the door to its widest and entered the dark mines prepared, they hoped, for any thing. Inside there was a long corridor, lit only by a few torches. The floors were chiseled into the rock and their boots echoed horribly. The rock was dark reddish brown in color probably formed from the sands of the desert long ago. The wall were smooth and well crafted except for a few pits where a gem or valuable stone once grew. The hall led steadily downward and was completely empty accept for the occasional cave spider.

The seven walked, poised for attack at any moment, to the end of the corridor. Here the hall split in two. One way led to the mines themselves the other to the Wardens quarters.

Raven lead right, heading down to the Warden's quarters as quietly as possible. No more than a few steps into the dark passage there came a sound of boots and a fat dwarf strode out into view. Raven guessed it was the Warden.

The dwarf kept a steady pace lumbering towards the group staring blankly. He found a nice spot in the shadows and stopped there. Raven stepped forward to greet the man but was cut off by the dwarf’s low accented voice.

"Hullo."

"Good ‘aye, you must be the Warden." Raven spoke in a calm voice. "I’m here for the Silver Bane."

"Ah ye," the dwarf leaned back on his heels and grinned. "Ye have the money?"

"Yes, I have the agreed upon amount." Raven drew a bag filled with coins and tossed it to the dwarf, "The sword?"

"Ah," the dwarf drew a shinning long sword. It was the blade the excerpt on the doors spoke of.

Raven grinned and reached out to take it. The dwarf leaned forward and with an amazing show of strength brought it down and through Raven’s right shoulder. Raven was to stunned to react.

"No!" Martin cried out almost feeling the pain of the wound in his own shoulder. "Someone, the dwarf!"

Red was one step ahead of Martin. He took an arrow from his quiver, placed it on his bowstring, and fired. The dwarf hover had already fallen and the arrow simply bound down the corridor harmlessly.

Red rushed forward to check out the dwarf who had mysteriously fallen while the others went to help Raven, their fallen leader. The dwarf, as Red found him, was very cold, pale, and dead. It didn’t make sense. You don’t just die all of the sudden.

"He’s dead," Red said over his shoulder more to himself then anyone. "It doesn’t make sense. He’s already so cold."

Raven how was all too pale himself sputtered, "Yes, yes it does."

All eyes fell on the thing Raven was staring at and the same paleness fell on each heart as well. Above the body of the dead Warden stood a darkly cloaked figure. His robes were blacker then the shadow behind him and all of a body they could see were two wretched pale hands protruding from his robes. The figure stood silently as his pulled the arrow from his chest and snapped it in two. Red shivered, remembering it as his own.