Not long later there was a great disturbance outside. Garinor and Tomli remained inside the tent, but peered through the seams in the canvas to see what was happening. Terrian had spread the word that they were going to be attacked from all sides and preparations were being made. Traps were set up around the camp and then they made themselves look complacent. It was a marvelous ruse.
In the late afternoon, the prince arrived with his army. He strode into the camp and demanded to speak with the leader. Terrian met him with a well-acted sense of apprehension. Words were exchanged, and threats were made, and then at last the prince’s patience was tried and he called for his troops to attack.
It would have been over for the Daggerfists if they’d had no warning. There were three soldiers to every Daggerfist and the sheer numbers would have overwhelmed them. But Garinor’s warning proved effective and the Daggerfists pushed the prince’s men into their traps and little by little they succeeded in overcoming the intruders. At last, the prince was captured and his hands were tied tightly behind his back.
Once the chaos settled down, Garinor and Tomli came from the tent and faced the prince eye to eye. The tall prince glared at Garinor spitefully. “Think you’re so clever, do you? This won’t guarantee that you get to rule.”
Garinor laughed at him. “You’re right. So you have been pursuing me all this time after all, then?”
“Of course, you fool. The words of all the mystics pointed to you. One of them even gave us a rendering.” He motioned to his chest pocket and one of the Daggerfists reached in and retrieved a parchment that was a vague likeness of Garinor.
The guard showed it to Terrian, who laughed. “It seems Sketch outdid himself with this one! I owe the man a bottle of the finest vintage, for certain.” He then cast a wary eye to his son, for it was yet another plan that had pointed the prince’s ire in Garinor’s direction.
Garinor, however, had other things on his mind. “We have a meeting with destiny, don’t we?” he asked the prince. “You know where the scepter is.”
The prince spat at his feet. “And why should I take you there?”
Garinor stepped forward and nearly touched the prince’s nose with his own. “Because if you don’t, I’ll finish what I started in the last battle.” He brought up his scabbed knuckles and touched them to a bruise on the prince’s cheek. “Yes, I think it was this fist that scored that hit.”
Soon after, Tomli, Garinor, the prince, and ten Daggerfists left the camp and ventured northeast to a cave that rested at the base of the mountains. It took roughly two hours for them to make the trek, though the sword point resting against the prince’s back kept him honest enough.
They reached the cave where torches waited in a basket. Two of the Daggerfists lit torches and they guided the prince inside, with Tomli and Garinor following behind. The rest of them waited outside to fend off possible intruders.
As they walked inside the cavernous hall, the air grew steadily chillier and they had to watch for stalactites swooping down from the ceiling at random. It didn’t take long for them to make their way through the inclined path, but a strange sensation overcame the group as they reached the end of the passageway. The light around them dimmed greatly and although they could see that the torches were still lit, their light did little to guide them.
Pressing ahead, they punctured the darkness into a wide, round chamber that was illuminated in a thick gray light. It wasn’t fog, but it had a strange denseness to it that made it hard to see and hear. They spoke in normal voices but everything sounded like a whisper.
Garinor looked around in the odd light and he noticed that underneath the highest point of the domed ceiling rested a stone pedestal that was carved on all sides with ancient runes. On the floor were countless skeletons, whose hands reached toward the pedestal and the scepter that stood proudly upon it.
Garinor’s eyes focused on the scepter for a time. It was made of wrought iron by skilled craftsmen. Three main rods spiraled up around a hidden central core and it was topped in a crystal sphere, only half of which was visible. He couldn’t see any other detail from his position, but he had the sense that there was more to know about the artifact.
The five of them stood there, transfixed. The moment had come at last and there the scepter waited. Garinor recalled what he knew about the prophecy. There were three principal players—the prince, the heir, and the one to wield the scepter. He now knew Tomli was the heir, and with the prince nearby, that meant only one thing. It was his destiny to take the scepter and to choose the ruler of the kingdom.
He wondered, though, what would happen if one of the others took the scepter in his stead. He looked down at the corpses lining the floor and he realized that if the wrong person reached for the scepter, it would cost that person’s life.
“So it comes to this,” he said into the heavy air. He looked at the prince and he wondered what he should do.