Shelves had been carved into every square inch of wall, and every shelf overflowed with . . . stuff. Jig had a hard time calling it treasure. True, many shelves glittered with gold and silver coins of all shapes and sizes, stacked into perfect cylinders. But there was far more to Straum’s hoard than mere money.

Weapons played a prominent role in the decor. Swords hung between every shelf, some taller than Jig, others slender as a blade of grass. Jig saw jeweled swords, plain swords, swords with polished steel blades, and swords of hammered bronze. He even saw one that looked like it was made of glass. No surprise that the owner of that sword didn’t last long.

Another shelf was devoted to footwear. Most came in pairs, but here and there Jig saw a lone boot or sandal. For the first time he understood a little of Barius’s greed. If not for the portcullis, he would have run to the shelves and grabbed every pair he could find. Never again would he have to suffer bruised toes, blistered heels, or cracked toenails. Finding his current pair had been fortunate, but this was treasure indeed. He wondered if he would have time to search for at least one pair that fit better. Maybe those blue ones, with the furry white fringe at the top and red flames painted down the sides. That was the kind of dramatic style any goblin would kill for.

There were helmets and bows, books and gem-stones, even a long shelf devoted to what Jig took to be feathers, but Darnak quickly recognized as writing quills.

“What a load of junk,” Darnak muttered. “Aside from the gold, that is. And I could take a liking to that peacock quill there. Could make some fine maps with such a pen. Wonder what kind of nib she’s got on her?”

“Find the rod,” Barius said. “Once the rod is safely in our possession, you may help yourself to any booty you wish. But first, find the rod.”

Riana cleared her throat. “What does it look like?”

Nobody answered.

Jig fought a sudden attack of giggles. He looked at Riana, whose incredulity was plain in her wide eyes.

“You don’t know?” she asked.

“The rod was hidden here thousands of years ago. No man has seen it since, and the bards of old did not see fit to describe it in song.” Was it Jig’s imagination, or was Barius blushing? “I presumed my brother would be able to identify it through his art.”

“I’ve spotted a mess of quarterstaves there, by the waterline.” Darnak pointed. “Could your rod be mixed in with that bunch for camouflage?”