TŪMBṂĀR felt his body bounce up and down. The air about him was stale. He opened his eyes to darkness and tried to move, but felt tied under something. His fingers seemed paralyzed, as if something was holding them; they felt much hotter than the rest of his body. His hands were becoming sweaty. He squirmed for a bit until he could look see past the covering. Moving his head through the slit, he saw he was inside a caravan and that he was moving somewhere. Where ever it was, it certainly felt hotter than anywhere else he had been. He tried moving his head about and could see some of the Gazhigam positioned around the wagon. They seemed to be aristocrats, but they each bore weapons on their sides. Tūmbṃār expected the worst upon seeing this.

They all remained silent, and the caravan was moved for quite some time. He could feel it descending far down, farther than what was supposed to be the bottom of the abyss. When the caravan was stopped, the covering was pulled, and they were dumped onto the ground. The boy then saw a large cavern, whose ceiling rested high with stalactites and all around was magma pouring into the chasm that encircled the area. The space was hot, and the air was heavy. And it slowed the rate of his breathing: his lungs felt on fire with every gasp of breath. The sweat sizzling on his skin made the feeling much worse.

“Ah, one has awoken!” said one of them.

Tūmbṃār looked on his person and saw he was wrapped in carpet tied with thick rope all across. Likewise were the others, but they were sound asleep.

“Ey! What’re you going to do with us?” said Tūmbṃār.

One aristocrat moved to him and kicked him toward the edge. Tūmbṃār glancing down, could see a large pool of magma far below.

“Well, it should not matter for thou shalt die,” said the aristocrat. “Displeased we are with thine arrival, and of what thou hast bargained with the King. We think his favor toward thee ill-placed for we know thou to be lying. Little trust we have for thy kind, and less so when involving matters that do not concern thee. I would ask that thou stayest quiet and fall into the lake of fire as the first. Little good it will do resisting now.”

The boy realized his hands had been covered with the restrictive gauntlets. As the aristocrat slowly rolled the carpet, Tūmbṃār concentrated his powers on his feet. Though it felt weak, he could at the very least use it and with as much air as he could force down, he propelled himself upward, and butt his head against the aristocrat’s chin, sending him flying.

Tūmbṃār spun himself in flight, and wriggling in his descent, he moved his feet from out of the carpet. He issued a blaze of fire that burned away the rope and carpet. He landed now free and ready for battle.

The aristocrats bore their curved blades and rushed after him. Tūmbṃār found he had burned off his sandals and that the surface was much too hot. He quickly hopped upon each of his feet as he scrambled from the weapon-wielding snakes.

Around and around, they circled each other. The snakes seemed to move faster as the chase prolonged, but it also looked like they tired. They seemed to be more like regular snakes than he before thought, and so Tūmbṃār had only to wait out until they collapsed from exhaustion. But it was not long until they split off from each other and surrounded him from all sides and inched closer to him. All the while Tūmbṃār continued to hop on his feet, for he still could not bear the heat.

“Resist not!” cried the aristocrat, who attempted to push Tūmbṃār into the magma. “Soon shall ye perish. Issuing powers from thy feet will do little to help thee here. I can see as well that thou art beginning to tire.”

And he was right. The little practice Tūmbṃār had would not help him here. His movements were beginning to slow. Yet even so, he would have to try his best and hope for success.

He concentrated the air about his feet and felt a burning sensation as the wind that coursed around blistered them. He bore the pain and rushed forward.

The Gazhigam lunged to pierce him, but Tūmbṃār flipped in the air, losing control of the element and he launched high. As he descended, he straightened out his leg and struck his heel atop one of their heads.

Dust and rock flew into the air and the boy used it to his advantage, quickly jumping and spinning himself. He encased the outer foot in earth and struck one assailer flat in the face, sending him flying to the other side and crashing into a multitude of Gazhigam.

The rest then quickened their pace and repeatedly slashed their blades his way. Tūmbṃār evaded, dancing about, all while trying to maintain the air around his feet. Before he could make use of his loss of control, the Gazhigam leaped in the air and held their swords high above.

Tūmbṃār looked behind and saw he was not far from the edge. He shifted his glance above and noticed the arc of their motion. He gave a wide grin as the air beneath his feet burst and sent him flying upward. The flying Gazhigam missed him in their descent and fell toward to chasm. They dropped their blades as they shouted, and one that had claws dug them deep into the wall as the others hung like a chain from his tail.

Looking over onto the wall, Tūmbṃār said, “Have fun their guys! It’ll be all over soon.”

They shouted his way, but he ignored them.

There were two Gazhigam left, one that tried to kill Tūmbṃār and another equal of murderous intent. Tūmbṃār squinted his eyes to get a clearer look. He realized they were the advisors that stood by the King when they had exited the palace.

“Had thy fun now, boy?” said one of them. “Still thou shalt not best us!”

“Wait!” cried Tūmbṃār.

But they would not halt and chased after Tūmbṃār. He all the while kept on shouting for them to stop.

“We shall not stop, child!” cried one of them. “Not until ye are dead!”

And like this they ran in circles on and on, and as Tūmbṃār’s feet burned under the hot surface and he became more tired, his anger slowly waxed, until he could bear it no more. He turned to face them. When they came in range, they leaped and swung their blades.

Tūmbṃār held his hands high, and the blades cut through the chain, freeing the gauntlets. And though the gauntlets did not fall, the cutting of the chains was all he needed.

He at once caught the blades when they had struck the surface. He then spun the two with their weapons: a loud clang and a twist of the hands, and lo, the blades snapped! The snakes were sent rolling past, unable to catch their bearing in the fall.

When they came to a halt, they stirred, but their bodies had overheated. They panted and sweat profusely. The battle was over.

A pile of Gazhigam to the left side, a few hanging off from the wall, and the two advisors laying on top of one another exhausted. To Tūmbṃār’s relief, none had died.

Then he realized he forgot about his friends. He went to their side and rolled over the carpets. They perspired just as much as the others, but it seemed they were not burned and, to that, the boy was relieved. He looked around him and saw not too far a ramp that moved into the darkness. After cutting the ropes and carpets, he tossed his friends and the Gazhigam into a pile on the caravan and whistled to the horses. They immediately rushed out onto the ramp with the caravan in tow and made far past.

Tūmbṃār then went to the advisors laying on the ground. Rummaging through their clothes, he found a key to the gauntlets. He used his feet to angle them into the hole and within a few minutes, his hands were freed.

Issuing a thin layer of earth and water under his feet that left a sizzling trail, he made to the Gazhigam upon the wall who seemed ready to fall. He summoned a small whirlwind and carried them onto the surface. Using the leftover rope, he tied them down.

Then, with all the leftover carpet, he sealed the edges between them with earth, and made a large mat with a foot high barrier lining the outermost edges. Quite lucky he was that the carpets were heat resistant, but it would have done him and his friends little good had they fallen into the magma. Looking to the scattered weapons, he kicked them off the edge. They fell into the magma, and he beheld the golden hilts and the silver blades melt into the fiery abyss. When all was accounted for, he laid the remaining Gazhigam on the carpet and dragged it, making the long journey back to the surface.

They passed through the long tunnel and arrived in a wide dome filled with tiered seats and columns circling around. The caravan was not too far off and he rested the carpet beside it and fell back on the ground, exhausted. The air here felt familiar, and he relaxed on the cool stone surface, as he took deep breaths of air as if to vent out the heat within his lungs.

For a time, he laid as such in silence, listening to the breeze that flowed from the tunnel. The silence was then broken.

“Why didst thou not kill us, child?” a voice asked. “We and the others who conspired to end ye, why dost thou forgive this? Should we not be felled, as is the law of the land?”

Tūmbṃār rose and saw it was the two advisors.

“Whether or not it’s the law, I have the final say, don’t I?” he said with a smile. “But in any case, I didn’t want you to die even if you meant us harm. So long as it’s within my power, I shan’t let anyone fall. This is something I’ve promised myself a long while back, but it seems I’ve still much to learn regarding it. I’m too weak right now,” he said despondently, but he quickly changed his mood and continued, “Ah! That’s right! I was meaning to ask you this when you were trying to slash me. What’re your names?”

The two fell down and prostrated before Tūmbṃār.

“I am Hvarathjās: for I am to be shining and pure in form!”

“And I am Drukkuhrhī: for I was adorned in yellow hue upon my birth!”

“We are both brothers and advisors to the King, but already thou didst know.”

Tūmbṃār grabbed them by their arms and lifted them. “You don’t need to do this. What’s done is done.”

He held out his left palm with his index finger curled, and said, “Friends?”

The advisors put their left hands atop and with joy, shouted, “Friends!”