Rattick was no Hero. Like all true survivors, he always seemed to find ways to profit from the misfortune of others. So at the first sign of trouble, he slunk into the alleys of Robrecht. While Orcs marauded through the town and fire ravaged the buildings, he kept to the shadows, looting corpses where he could, burgling a store here and there, until finally he reached the north gate. He found a horse in the guards’ stable and was gone into the night without a second thought.

When Rattick reached the forest, he abandoned the horse and worked his way along the road from twenty yards into the woods. When he grew tired, he climbed a tree, wrapped himself in his cloak, and tried to nap. His sleep did not last long, for he was awakened by the sounds of the raiding party returning from Robrecht. Horrible things on wolves crying “Hork, Hork, Hork!” as they rode the unlit roads. Rattick wondered what Treasure they had taken from the town. Probably just people, for food. But just in case, he followed their tracks, looking for dropped baubles by the light of a waning moon.

The raid was bad news for Robrecht, of course, but good news for Rattick. When word got out, Adventurers would come from all parts of the Four Kingdoms. They would see Glory, and loot. And with such a school of fish to draw from, Rattick’s grift was about to go big time. Maybe he needed a partner to handle the additional volume? But the problem with taking a partner in a grift was how could you trust a grifter?

With his careful traveling habits, it took Rattick three days to return to the entrance of the Wizard’s lair. And by that time, it wasn’t there anymore. The once-grassy hill and innocuous-looking wooden door had been blown apart, leaving a smoking hole in the earth.

Wolf tracks led directly over the edge and into the maw of the pit. Evidently, the Wizard had had enough. It was not hard for Rattick to envision the scene. Often enough, he had heard the Wizard’s howls of frustration echoing through the lower dark of the dungeon. Of course, Rattick had been amazed and frightened by the mighty Magicks he had seen the Wizard work. But that’s what made it funny now. That one so wise in the ways of power could be so ignorant of patience. That was amusing. And worth remembering.

Had someone made it past the Troll and stolen something of true value from the Wizard? Yes, that would do it. And Rattick wouldn’t be surprised. His grift had been keeping the Troll so well-fed that half the time he brought Adventurers there, he’d had to wake the beast up to get him to eat his marks.

A theft certainly would have pushed the Wizard over the edge. His temper lost, raging against insults real and imagined, his foul creations scurrying for cover… yes, that must have been the way of it. The Wizard throws his hands into the air, says a word of power, and the entire hillside blows outward into the night. With a hue and cry, he lets slip the Orcs of War.

Yes, that’s how it would have happened. Dimsbury had enough power to do it, that was for sure. He was a Wizard more powerful than any BattleMage Rattick had heard of.

It was the kind of scene one would place in a mighty saga to give the Hero time to rally an army and save the town. Except, there was no Hero. And there was no army. Just a wound in the earth and an unsuspecting town that had been sacked. And would be sacked again and again, now that it was defenseless.

So now he would wait for the next party of Adventurers. When they came, he would spin his sad Tale of Love and Life Lost in the fall of Robrecht. He would summon tears to his false eyes and tell how he had come for vengeance, but had realized that to attempt the depths of the fiendish dungeon alone would be surest suicide. Then he would promise to serve his new friends faithfully.

After a while, he grew tired of standing around waiting for the next flock of Heroic lambs. So he climbed into a tree, found a comfortable limb, and went to sleep. But his dreams of blood and fortune were soon interrupted by the sound of horses and, wait, was that a wagon?

He peered down through the leaves and spied a coach fit for a King. A King, or a party of Adventurers so rich that Rattick would only have to run his bloody con one last time before he retired to the warmth and debauchery of the Southron Kingdoms.

He jumped down from the tree so quickly he nearly broke his leg. As he rushed to greet the Adventurers, he saw that the strong-jawed blond lad who drove the carriage was wearing a very, very high grade of armor. A good sign, thought Rattick, expensive armor, even on the servants.

“Hello, hail and welcome, proud Adventurers. Be on your guard, for you have come to the lair of a Wizard most foul and dangerous. Humble as I am, I place at your service my unworthy person, Rattick.” He finished with a low bow.

Before he could raise his head, he heard a familiar and irritating voice say, “Ah, Rattick! Do I have a deal for you!”

He snapped up from his bow. “BOLTAC!?”

“Rattick!” answered Boltac, not missing a beat. “Is it ever your lucky day!”

“Why?” asked Rattick with narrowing eyes.

“Like I said, I have a wonderful deal for you. A deal no honest man could pass up.”

Rattick made a face. “I think that you are a long way from your store, shrewd Merchant.”

“And don’t I know it. Relan, unload the bags while I have a word with Rattick here.”

“Who’s he?” Rattick asked, nodding at the kid.

“Him? Oh, he’s the Hero.”

“If he’s the Hero, what does that make you?”

“The cunning fat guy who outsmarts everybody in the end.”

“I don’t understand,” said Rattick, telling the truth for once.

“Rattick, I want to hire you. Now before you protest, here’s ten gold pieces, and there’s more where that came from. Plenty more. I seek an audience with the Wizard at the bottom of this smoking hole, and I want you to get me there.”

“I… I…” Rattick stammered to a halt. Between trying to twist circumstance to his advantage and trying to figure out what in the hell circumstance was up to, he locked up. Finally, he asked, “Have you lost your mind, fat Merchant?”

“What? You mean because I’m here? Yeah, probably. But I haven’t lost my cunning, you understand. I’ll give you half your reward now, half when you get me back to town.”

“Twenty gold pieces is not enough.”

“I know that, Rattick. I do. That was just to get your attention.”

“I don’t know if I…”

“Of course you can. What’s that smell?”

“Troll.”

“There’s a Troll?” asked Relan, as he removed Boltac’s bag from the carriage. “Is this all you packed?”

“I travel light,” Boltac said, taking the sack from him. “If there’s a Troll somewhere in this hole, it’s the same Troll Rattick’s been using to kill hapless Adventurers just like us. Isn’t that right, Rattick?”

“I would never do such a thing. I am here to avenge my beloved Robrecht. And I, for one, am shocked, SHOCKED–”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda. See, kid, what he did there? Ahh, never mind. What he did was despicable, but the important thing is that we’re not going to fall for it, are we?”

“No, we’re not,” said Relan, not knowing what he wasn’t going to fall for. “Because I’m here to protect you.”

“Protect me? Ha. Kid, you’re here to carry the Lantern.” Boltac reached into his bag and handed Relan the Magic Lantern of Lamptopolis. As soon as Relan touched it, it blazed forth with a brilliant light.

“We’re not going to be sneaking up on anybody with that thing,” observed Rattick.

“Eh, yeah,” said Boltac, “you’re right. You carry it.”

“The Magic Lamp,” protested Relan. “Do you trust him with it?”

“I trust him to be totally untrustworthy. Consistency. I can work with consistency,” said Boltac. As soon as Rattick took the lamp it went out. “Hmm. Smart lamp. Okay, we’ll use torches.”

Rattick handed the darkened lamp back to Boltac and asked, “What do you want with me, Boltac?”

“I want to make you rich. Name a figure, Rattick! How many coins do you need to guide me to the Wizard at the bottom of this smoking hole in the earth?”

“Why do you want to see him so badly?”

“He has a friend of mine. And I’d like her back.”

“Ho, ho, ho. Is this Love? Love from the man who is all business?”

“Yeah, I’m all business; how much you want?”

“I can’t get you past the Troll.”

“What do you mean, Rattick? Sneaky little weasel like you?”

“No, no, I swear it. Ever since Dimsbury put the Troll there, even I haven’t been able to sneak to the lower levels. Trolls have a very good sense of smell.”

“Nah, you’re just rotten to the core, so you stink to high heaven. But don’t you worry about that. You get me to the Troll, and I’ll take care of him.”

“What? YOU? You can’t be serious,” Rattick collapsed in laughter.

Boltac frowned. “Y’know Rattick, if I’m gonna be your boss, you might want to show me a little respect.”

“My boss? No offense, but I try not to work for people who will get me killed.”

“Ah, so little faith. I tell you what.” Boltac pulled a full coin purse from his belt. “This is for you. And three times this much when we get back to Robrecht with the girl.”

“Even with my help, you don’t stand a chance,” said Rattick.

“Don’t forget about me,” said Relan, as he drew his sword. The conversation came to a complete halt as both men stared at the Farm Boy. They stared so long that Relan became uncomfortable and asked, “What?”

“Put that away before you hurt yourself,” said Boltac. “Now where were we?”

“You were just about to get yourself killed,” said Rattick.

“Ah yes, exactly, ye of little faith. I tell you what, Rattick. You lead me to the Troll, and if I can’t defeat your Troll, you keep the gold. I mean after the Troll eats me and shits it out.”

“Trolls shit gold?” asked Relan, very confused.

“Gold is very hard to digest. Isn’t that right Rattick?”

“I shall do as you ask. Then I will loot your corpse with great relish.”

“There he is. There’s that guy I know and distrust. C’mon Relan. Let’s go meet the Troll.”