Our little expedition headed out through one of the deepest caverns in our little cave system. After a careful wait, the tribe's priests used 'Stone Shape' to open a hole in the rock wide enough for us to enter the most upper tunnels of the Underdark. After we were through, they closed the rock again, and we were plunged into darkness.

Brigitte clutched at my cloak, even though she knew it was coming, until her eyes began to adjust to the gloom, lit only by a dim glow of bio luminescent fungi running along the walls and ceiling.

We were few in number, to better slip past any threat. Garog and Bar were of course with me, both in their armour, helms and shields, spears and swords. Janare had left her staff behind, preferring to carry her sword and a shield painted with the bloody sword totem of her god, and wore a coat of brigadine, pieces of metal plate riveted to a leather jerkin. Brigitte wore only a padded gambeson over her tunic and trousers, belted at the waist, and a leather cap over her brown curls, armed with a buckler and short sword. We were also accompanied by a pair of rothe, shaggy bison-like beasts that most tribes used for meat, milk, leather and as pack animals. Able to see in the dark like orcs and able to keep up with us, they were perfect to carry the bulk of our supplies ... and any loot we came across in our travels.

Bar ran ahead, his soft boots virtually silent on the stone floor, with the bulk of our team in the middle, and Garog bringing up the rear. We marched in mostly silence, due to the distance noise could travel in the Underdark, and my mind wandered back to when we were preparing for the trip.

Brigitte entered my quarters, bowed, walked over to stand in front of me and knelt in a practiced motion. "Master?" she asked in Common.

I smiled. "Brigitte, I am preparing to go on a journey. The tribe needs things I cannot provide them here, so I must go and get them," I said in orc, unusual for the two of us in private.

She looked up, terror in her eyes. "And ... and you plan to leave me behind?"

I spoke softly. "It will be a long journey, full of monsters and dangers. Your life would be in constant danger -"

"No less than alone in these caves without your protection," she hissed, her fear making her bold. "Master, I know that only your presence prevents many of your orcs from ... using me, for pleasure or for ... food. If you were to leave ... please! Take me with you!"

I frowned. "We cannot take a party member who cannot defend themselves: you would be armed, armoured, and carry your own gear. You will have to fight at times. Can you?"

She laughed, an ugly, sad sound. "I killed two Fleshtearers before I was taken: my father insisted I know how to fight before he took me on his travels ... much good it did me." But she glared up at me. "My only chance of going home is if you keep your promise. You can't do that if you're dead, or if I am. So I'm not leaving your side." Then she cast her eyes down, demurely. "That is, if it pleases Master."

The others had thought it was pretty silly to bring my slave along, and even sillier to arm her, but again the orc tendency towards 'ass kicking is authority' was in my favour: if I wanted an armed slave, then that was my business, and they weren't going to make a fuss about it. So she marched along with us, a single human peering in the dark amongst orcs. She had a small light attached to her cap, a tiny stone upon which Janare had cast a 'continual light' spell, and it was enough, along with the dim ambient light, to allow her to see where she was going, without drawing too much attention to us.

So, our little band made fairly good time, navigating by memories, scraps of maps and markings carved into the rock at intersections, Janare's knowledge of orc, dwarf, goblin and kobold dialects making the job easier. A week into our trek, and we hadn't run into any denizens of the Underdark, thank Ilneval: we had skirted around what looked like a slime warren, and hidden while a collumn of hobgoblins marched past, but so far had avoided contact.

The nights were as stressful as the days, huddled around in little alcoves, eating cold, dry rations and drinking water mixed with a little wine. We took turns keeping watch, sleeping with our weapons at hand and wrapped in our cloaks and blankets. Fortunately, the earth around us kept us warm, even a little hot at times, but the air was sometimes stagnant, and sometimes howled through the tunnels like a dragon's breath.

So it was with great pleasure that we finally emerged from a small cave and into the world above.

It was evening, with us having completely lost track of the time of day due to being underground for days, and the air was clean and crisp. Snow was heavy on the ground, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and after so long underground even the most orcy orc felt the need to stand under the open sky for a few moments in silence. Brigitte was almost in tears at the sight of the setting sun.

Still, we had hours to go. We unpacked our snowshoes, one item I didn't get to take credit for inventing, and the small, carved wooden lenses that resembled Inuit snow goggles, to keep the snow glare out of our eyes. Despite the clarity of the night, it was still bitter cold, and we were glad that Janare had prepared an 'Endure Elements' spell for each of us, protecting us from the worst of the biting cold. "Sorry, you'll have to ditch the light," I instructed Brigitte, who somewhat sullenly obeyed. "If we walk along in the dark carrying it, it will alert anyone within a dozen miles where we are. Don't worry: the moon should be half full, so you won't be marching blind."

"Only by half," she mumbled, but did as she was told, slipping the glowing stone into her belt pouch.

After three hours of marching over the snow, past trees and boulders, we arrived at a stream that was almost completely frozen over. Breathing hard, I pulled off my goggles, tossed my hair, and looked around. Under moon- and starlight, it took a few moments for the details to match, but ... I grinned, and moved over to one of the lower, snow-covered boulders.

Garog stuck the butt of his spear in the snow, and leaned on it. "So what the fuck are we doing here? We didn't get stuck into anything down there: a good walk in the Underdark completely wasted!"

I scraped at the snow with my gloved hand, and laughed as my scratching revealed something below ... something that wasn't rock. "Here, give me a hand," I commanded, and the others obeyed, helping me clear the snow off what seemed to be ...

Brigitte gasped. "It's a dragon skull!"

I grinned down at the grey lump of bone, horn and teeth having long been looted from it, so that it looked decidedly feeble. "It was a green dragon, about thirty feet long," I stated, delighted that Huruk's memory was so accurate. "Underneath is the rest of it, less the meat and some of the useful bones. Three years ago, when we three," I indicated the other males and myself, "slew the beast, we stuck the head on top, as a warning to all that past that the Stonegrinders were mighty enough to slay even the mightiest predator." I shrugged. "Okay, so we were younger then, and the act seemed far more glorious."

"Speak for yourself," grumbled Garog. "I'm still damned proud. Nearly broke my bloody axe, putting that notch in the bastard's jawbone," he pointed to where the jaw did indeed have a large chunk out of it.

"So why is it still here?" the sole human in the group wanted to know.

The others just looked at her like she was stupid, so I took pity on her. "Because it's a big piece of bone the size of a barrel. It's heavy, and doesn't really serve any purpose. Besides, it's useful as a landmark. Passers-by have chipped bits off it for good luck charms," I ran my gloves along where just such activity had clearly taken place, "And eventually it will be reduced to smaller pieces, and, one day, gone completely. Until then, it stands as a part of the land, and a part of legend."

We stood in silence for a moment, the crisp night air biting at our lungs as our breath smoked in front of us, until I nodded. "Right." I looked around to get my bearings. "This way," I guided us down hill towards the stream.

"So what the bloody hell is important enough for us to clamber all the way across miles of snow?" asked Bar, clearly more than a little annoyed at me.

"Because," I panted, as we marched along the stream as it wound into the hills, "Back then, I was a moron."

"What'd you mean, 'back then'?"?" asked Garog, and we laughed.

After a few more minutes, I decided to elaborate. "We were so wrapped up in killing the dragon, so godsdamned happy to be alive, we didn't think about the important thing. The one thing that you've always got to remember about dragons."

"What's that?" asked Bar.

I paused, looking back over my shoulder at them. "Dragons have hoards."

Centuries before, this little river had been larger, and cut its way through the rock to create a gorge, that we were clambering into, climbing over rocks and ice. We had removed our snowshoes to give our boots better grip, but it was still slow going, and we were getting exhausted. But the growing sound in the distance egged us on, and we continued, hauling ourselves and our rothe over the terrain. The rock walls on either side of us grew closer, but eventually it opened up into a large pool, with cliffs all around. The water roared over the falls a hundred and fifty feet above, crashing into the water below. It was only close to the mouth of the river that the water began to freeze.

Fortunately, there was a path around the pool, barely wide enough for us to walk, and we carefully threaded our way around, several times nearly falling into the water. It took almost another hour, even with Brigitte's light to help us see, but eventually we approached the falls. The roar of the water was deafening, and it was falling so violently that even protected from the chill, we still raised our shields to protect us from bits of ice falling from above.

Finally we were there. The falls made it difficult for us to talk, and even the stoic rothe were near panicking, but we were bloody close. Handing shield and spear to Brigitte, I bent down and picked up a large river stone, polished smooth by centuries of running water. Hefting it over my head, I judged the weight, then hurled it into the falls. It disappeared into the water, and I could barely hear a dull thud a moment later.

I was swamped by relief, and a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. I had been dreading coming all this way, and discovering that I was wrong all along, and wasted hours of effort for nothing.

"Garog!" I bellowed above the roar of falling water, "With me!" I took back my shield, and together we, the two largest and strongest of our party, raised our shields above our heads with both hands, and, pressing the rims together, forced our way into the falls.

The pressure was immense, and the jarring thuds of bits of ice hitting our shields was unnerving, but we were able to open up a small opening that revealed a cave entrance hidden by the waterfall. The others needed no prompting, and they hurriedly hauled the two balking rothe and our geat through into the darkness. With one last grunt of effort, we followed.

"It was just a bit of skull work," I stated as we ventured further into the cave, weapons at the ready. "I didn't know much about dragons back then, but I've asked a few questions from those who did, Old Cur, for instance," I named an elderly tribesman who had, conveniently, passed away the previous winter. "He said that greens like to build their lairs in the hills, preferring shear cliffs, but loved entrances like this, covered by waterfalls and the like. As far as I know, this is the only sizable falls within fifty, sixty miles of where we killed it. Greens are teritorial, and this one was pretty young, so I didn't think it could have been far from home."

"But how could you be sure this was the right place," asked Bar, peering about with spear in both hands, his shield slung over his back.

I shrugged. "I guessed."

"What?" squeaked Brigitte.

"I figured I had a good chance ... and if I was wrong, we're not far out of our way. We still have a few stops to make, and if this one hadn't panned out, we'd still be able to accomplish our task." I grinned. "I'm really happy it worked out this way, though," I stated as the tunnel opened out into a cavern. Dotted with stalactites and stalagmites, it was easily as large as our main cavern, but not as polished. Brigitte's light panned over the stone, until we all saw something glitter in the dark, and we gasped alongside her.

It doesn't matter how jaded you are, or how civilised: a dragon's hoard will always take your breath away.

Okay, it wasn't huge: it was certainly not the bed of riches you see Smaug or some other ancient drake lying on. There were maybe three thousand coins, mostly silver with plenty of copper and a few gold, a pile of jewellery the dragon had probably used as a pillow, and a few other odds and ends: two goblets (one gold, the other plain pewter) a mirror, a few bowls and plates of various metals and levels of ornamentation, a broken wagon wheel ...

It still knocked our socks off (well, it would have, if any of us wore them).

Garog knelt down, picking up a handfull of coins and let them fall through his fingers, striking the ground with a beautiful clinking sound. "Amazing," he breathed.

Bar was holding a golden chain, set with gemstones, up to the dim light. "Such riches ... our people have never seen!"

Brigitte hesitantly picked up one of the coins Garog had dropped, and examined it. "THis is a Dorian silver half-crown," she insisted, before picking up a copper. "And this is a Maro demi-mark. Lowlander realms," she added, at Janare's questioning look. "A long way to the West and South. Either this dragon used to live somewhere else, or it took much of this weath from another treasure hoard: the coins are rare evn in human lands, and old. At least three centuries."

Garog grunted. "Weird pictures," he said, running his thumb over the coin in his hand. "Why a dog on this side, and a face on this one?" he asked.

"May I?" she asked, and he absently tossed the coin to her, and she hissed as she ran her fingers over the heavy gold piece. "It's a Zari wolf, minted by Emperor Hassa the Ninth. Look," she held the face side so Garog could see, "It's his name, 'Hassa', and the numeral 'nine', and the year it was struck, '1324'."

He laughed. "Funny way to write numbers - yes, Bar, I can read."

"No funnier than ours," I commented absently, brushing through the mound of wealth. "The numbers we inherited from the dwarves are just as complicated and unwieldy as anything the humans ever came up with."

"And I suppose you could do better," asked Janare.

I shrugged. "I'm a little busy winning a war: I can overhaul our script another day."

"Is that how you see this?" asked Brigitte, handing the coin back to Garog, who had pulled out a bag and started shoving fistfulls of coin into it. "A war? Against the Hearteaters?"

"The Hearteaters? Hells no," I snorted in derision. "What do I care about those squatters? My war is against history." I paused as my careful digging uncovered somethign underneath the coins. "Here, have a look at this ..." I pulled from the pile a set of chain mail, coins falling from its folds as I raised it up. A shirt, with short sleeves and no coif, it shimmered in the dim light with a silvery texture that had refused to tarnish in the damp.

"Is that ..."

"Mithril," I breathed. I had never seen it in either life, but it matched the descriptions: brilliant, light and strong.

"Pretty, but too small for a warrior to wear," said Janare dismissively. Indeed, it was clearly designed for someone with a slender form, narrow shoulders and waist.

"Elf shit," snorted Garog, turning back to the coins and jewellery, things he knew.

I nodded. It was probably the armour of an elven adventurer who had run afoul of the dragon. Then my eye caught something else. "Hmm," I picked up the object: a sheathed sword, with a delicately formed hilt. Hissing, I passed the mail to Brigitte, who sat staring at it, and drew the blade. Long and narrow, it came to a wicked point, but had two sharp edges. If anything, it resembled an early rapier, long and able to cut and thrust, but it was so light ... it too, it seemed, was made from mithril, hilt and blade of one piece, likely the weapon of the same adventurer who wore the mail. An elven thinblade? "Well," I said with a smile, "It seems we have something better for you to carry, Brigitte."

"What?"

We made our way down the stream again the next day, our rothe laden with booty, but we were still able to make good time. Wearing our goggles again, we shielded our eyes from the light as best we could, suddenly looking forward to returning underground.

Brigitte's gambeson was packed away, her new chain shirt being light and comfortable enough to wear without padding. Her new blade rode on her hip, her cloak wrapped around her, and there was a certain spring in her step, the only sign of her captivity being the leather band around her neck.

I can't keep her much longer ... pity, though, the way she's blossoming. Still, she should be allowed to go home.

"Right," asked Janare once we were back safely in the tunnels, "Where to next?"

"Up," I said, leading us towards a passage that angled upwards. "We go up."