“Can we just open one”?

The others where huddled by the blocked entrance to the cavern as if fearful of something.

“Please” stressing the plea’ “I’m bored, really, really bored”

“No my friend”

Questimond, his platinum hair seeming to shimmer even in the gloom of the cave, let a long-suffering look pass momentarily across his usually placid features.

“We’re not sure which one is safe yet”

“But they’re just dooor’s” he wined “so what if they can talk.  It’s not like they’re gonna bite”

He brightened as his imagination took hold of the idea, could just picture Torvac reaching for one of the intricately carved knockers.  As the grubby dwarven fingers touched the metal of the ring, the door coming to life and swallowing him whole. Ha, he thought, it’d probably spit him back out for being the bearer of Trev, the black bastard sword.  He couldn’t imagine anything, no matter how foul, that’d be able to stomach the evil of that blade, shame really.

He sighed, sadly it wouldn’t happen.  When he’d first checked the doors for locks, traps or other things of interest, none of which he’d found, there’d been one thing he had noticed.  All the metal work, the casing, cross bracing and of course the knocker where covered in carvings, very intricate and often with images overlapping.

He sighed again, there was no point trying to tell the others; they always knew better, especially where magic was concerned. 

The carvings seemed familiar, he was sure of it, just where had it been.  His small angelic face screwed up in the effort of concentration, tapping his forehead gently in the effort to dislodge the thought.  Then it came to him, it’d been back home when Balfin his second cousin on mother’s side had dared him to ‘borrow’ old Gilamis the Kender Snatcher’s Staff of Power. 

Yes that was it; Gilamis was famous throughout the lands of the Kender for having the tightest security in the known world.  It had been over seventy years since anyone who accepted that particular dare had returned. 

He had known that there was virtually no chance of getting in without being caught, so he had planned from the start to just hand himself over.  From there of course things would be a bit tricky but he was ready for anything.  Well anything except and he shuddered, almost convulsed at the though, Prison!

Not that there was a prison that could hold him, he smiled, cast him across the dimensions perhaps, but not hold him. 

A full-scale argument had started at the back of the cavern with Torvac and Kellmer on one side, Quest and Garrik on the other.

It was a forgone conclusion who’d win and with everyone’s attention diverted Wembly decided to take the opportunity too take a closer look at the carvings.

There was a seam of quartz running down one wall of the cave that must at some point reach to the surface and diffuse light was illuminating the three doors.  They were large, even for a human, and made from a single piece of ironwood bound with thick bands of bronze. 

Huh, he thought, show me a dungeon that didn’t have great a ironwood door or two that brooded and loomed, some even boded.

No the interesting thing about these beasts, other than the fact they could talk, were the pictures portrayed on the metalwork.  They were a series of three overlapping figures, it looked like one figure representing good and two representing evil, or perhaps it was law and chaos, who knew.

When the party had first approached the doors they had come to life and said one of their number would open the other two kill! 

The bracing and bands where interesting but not that important, it was the ring that was the centre of the magic, at least if he was any judge it was.

He stepped up to the first door and producing a jeweller’s glass from one of his many pockets, leaned forward to examine the carefully incised images.  The central image of the three figures overlapped around the circumference with the two bestial creatures holding down the elflike one.

He moved on to the next ominous portal and again, after a cursory inspection of the surrounds, peered intently at the knocker.

This time the two beasts seemed to be fighting each other while the elf ran free; although now he could see the lone figure clearly, it looked less like an elf and more like a sprite or wingless fairy.

Number three was the almost the same, the only difference being in the central images, the animals were now stalking the manikin and ready to pounce.

Hmmm, he thought, that’s some different imagery we have there, and turning to see how the others were doing wandered to sit in the light and think.

The argument was in full flow now with Torvac gripping Trev as if he was trying to throttle it, or perhaps restrain it, and the usual sardonic smile spread across Garrik’s face.

“Just think about it.  Please” Garrik half laughed, “Even you have to see sense.”

Torvac’s growl of anger echoed around the cave, the faint metallic ring coming from the sword acting like a counter harmony to the dwarf’s deep rumble but seeming to carry a note of yearning.

“Ye have ta be havin yer jollies laddie if ye’ll think am a-listenin ta a word ya sayin”

He thrust his chin out aggressively and gripped Trev even more fiercely.

“An no fancy wordin’s ‘ll be a changing ma mind.  Ye hear!”

Garrik’s smile took on a condescending aspect, and shaking his head in mock despair asked “Quest can you please talk some sense into our deluded friend here?”

“Deluded” roared Torvac, “I’ll give ye deluded ye scrawny book weasel”

His face, already flushed, took on a surprising shade of red and with sword half drawn he went to take a step forward.

“Be calm Torvac”

Questimond’s soft voice, clear as a bell, cut through the tension and he placed a restraining had on the dwarf’s shoulder.

“Friend Garrik” he cast a frown over to the smirking mage “cannot control his mouth, it would seem.”

Wembly smiled to himself, his friends were just like family, the constant bickering and sniping kept the mind sharp and woe betides anyone who got in their way.  Anyway, he thought, back to the doors, the key had to be in the carvings.  It’s just a case of figuring out the sequence. 

There were three doors and the same number of figures; one was safe to open and one ‘good’ figure. 

Why, he wondered, would a sprite allow itself to be bound to an enchantment like this?  It just didn’t seem to be their style, a fine ring or pendant maybe, not an evil portal of Doom. 

The evil spirits would be easy to bind, they’d get to kill people, but what would posses a good one to enter into such a contract.

Perhaps that was it, he thought, the ‘goodly’ door that allowed you through was the one in which the ‘goodly’ spirit was trapped.  In fact, it was being held down by its counterparts, meaning the second and third doors would be bound to evil.

Without a second thought he jumped up and hurried across to the right-hand door, the first he had examined, to try out his theory.

“Wembly!”

His fingers inches from the knocker he froze.  Turning with an innocent smile spread across his child like face he artfully placed his hand behind his back.

Garrik was striding towards him, all argument forgotten; with the no nonsense look that usually ended with him making promises not to do things.

“What are you thinking, exactly?”

The question seemed rhetorical, and with Garrik it was usually better to keep quiet than to plead innocence; he had a way of turning your words around on you that was disconcerting to say the least.

Instead summoning his brightest smile Wembly beamed upon the fast approaching human.  Garrik, faced with an irrepressible Kender, could not help but smile in return.  Then shaking his head slightly and in a quiet voice, asked

“Well, what’s going on in that devious little skull of yours?”

 “We have to open this door” Wembly whispered back, “It’s the good one so it’ll let us through”

“What do you mean by good and how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

One of the good things about Garrik, when he wasn’t being a pain in the bum and general busybody, was that he would actually listen to an explanation and understand what he was being told.

“It’s the carvings, they show the spirits bound to the doors and the only one that has the good one bound to it is the first one so the other ones have evil ones in them so that has to be the one that we have to open.”  Wembly gasped out of breath for a moment.  Then patting a variety of pockets and pouches he eventually revealed a large magnifying glass.

“Look, look”

He bounced excitedly over to the door happy to be showing off his own cleverness.

“Whut are ye blatherin about ye wee imbecile!”

Torvac came stumping past Garrik to stand nose to nose with the young Kender.

“It’s bad enough yon spell casters thinking it be this door” he spat “a don’t be needin a fool like ye ta be agreein with em.”

“Torvac….”

Garrik started, only to be cut off by the irate dwarf.

“Bah to the lot of ye” he shouted, “tis an ancient dwarven puzzle am tellin ye!”

He stamped one sturdy boot, hard into the rock floor to emphasise the point.

“Me fathers, fathers’d turn in their graves if a didnee know the answer”

Kellmer, his hands pressed together before him, a slight frown creasing his brow in what he thought was a studious poise nodded his head in agreement adding

“Yes, yes in my reading on early Dwarven culture I have come across this exact same puzzle many times.  It was very popular at one time.”

Wembly was examining the central door by now but thought he should add his own knowledge. The Kender kept their own histories, but to be honest none of the other races had ever studied them; they were sort of secret and contained interesting details like where the secret passageways opened out and how to enter certain cities undetected but what the heck, this was a special case.

“The ‘Dwarven Door Puzzle number 7b’ is recorded”, he intoned, “as being used at fourteen primary sites as the entry to the main treasury.  It has fallen into disuse in recent centuries after three major citadels were bankrupt in suspicious circumstance.”  He looked around at the others and shrugged, “or so the records of my people say.”

“Ye see!” bellowed Torvac “even the thief agrees”

“THEIF!”, Wembly shouted, doing his best to match the dwarfs’ tone and failing miserably.  “Who are you calling a thief!”?

Bristling with indignation and wounded innocence, Wembly turned to face his accuser.

“Who exactly are you calling a thief, eh?” He thrust out his chin in an unconscious copy of Torvac.  “I’ll have you know I come from a long line of innocent men who…”

“Calm, young Wembly” Questimond cut him off.  “Friend Torvac had a slip of the tongue, we know you are no thief.”

“Yeah, but he said….”

“Yes my friend I know and I am sure he will apologise” Quest cast a glance at the dwarf, “for his rash and hurtful accusation, is that not so?” a perfectly formed eyebrow was arched in silent command.

Torvac had the decency to look ashamed and, suddenly interested in his boots, mumbled unintelligibly into his beard.

“What was that Torvac?” Wembly asked brightly, all trace of wounded innocence gone.  “I couldn’t quite hear you”

Torvac glared for a moment as if daring the Kender to make him repeat himself.  Wembly beamed back, cupping a hand to one pointy ear he tilted his head to better hear.

The dwarf threw his hands in the air in frustration, and then chewing off the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth said:

“Am a sorry for causing ye any offence, as a didnee mean t.  An a ken yer no thief”, that said with a wince as if he’d bitten his tongue.  “Now will ye open the damnedable door an be letting us out”

Wembly, his smile almost splitting his face it was so wide, gleefully spun calling in his piping voice.

”Of course Torvac, anything for a friend” and reached for the knocker.

“NO!” Questimond and Garrik called in unison, jumping forward to try and reach their young companion.

The dull metallic boom of the striker hitting the back plate was their only reply and Wembly’s lifeless body slumped to the floor, his head striking the rock with a sickening crack.

“Torvac you fool!” Garrik cried as Questimond dropped to his knees besides the body, gently cradling the diminutive form. 

“He has gone”, reported Quest, carefully closing the eyes, then lifting the body and carrying it across the room.  Their friend had always been small but with the largeness of his spirit gone, the body was truly tiny, no bigger that a human child of six or seven, and to think he had stood up to giants.

Gently lying Kender in the light shimmering from the wall of the cave, he turned to the others, tears rolling unashamedly from grief wracked eyes.