Ryslind released his grip. Smiling at the group, he reached between the center bars and tapped each one lightly. Like the streams of water outside, the bars turned fluid and moved toward the edge of the tunnel. The flat iron crossbeams trickled to the floor. Soon, instead of an impassible gate, only a ring of black liquid ran around the end of the tunnel.

“Illusion.” He tucked his hands back into the sleeves of his robe. “To stop the weak-minded.”

Barius’s sword hissed free of its scabbard. “Steel, to stop the craven of heart.”

“Oh, my brother.” Ryslind shook his head in dismay. “So bold, yet so predictable.” His eyes flashed, and the blade of Barius’s sword vanished at the crossguard.

Barius dropped the useless hilt. “You’ve always been a coward.”

“And you’ve never learned to compromise. It’s why even the goblin beat you at your duel. Your ‘honor’ and ‘nobility’ are chains holding you back. Had the goblin offended me, I would have crushed him.”

He smiled at Jig, a reminder that the goblin had offended him, and that Jig could look forward to a painful death at Ryslind’s convenience. “The poor wretch would die as quickly as I would, were I to meet your challenge ‘honorably,’ sword against sword.”

With a twisted sneer, he added, “But you seem to lack a sword, brother. Here, take this instead.” He tossed a knife to Barius. Halfway between them, it twisted into a hissing snake.

Darnak’s war club knocked it aside before it could strike. The snake bounced off the tunnel wall and fell to the ground, where it became a dagger again.

Barius grabbed for the dagger. “Darnak, help me fight his foul magic.”

The dwarf looked at them both. The humans wore mirroring expressions, jaws tight and eyes narrow with determination. “No, I can’t be doing that, Barius.”

To the prince’s outraged expression, he said, “I’ve served your father for longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll not tell him how I was after killing one of his sons. And if you’ve any brains at all between the two of you, you’ll stop this nonsense. We may have found the ore, but we’ve yet to haul it from the mine, as the saying goes.”

Behind them, the sound of the waves changed. Something had disturbed their rhythm. Jig stared at the lake, noting the low shadow that broke up the reflections on the surface. It moved toward the shore, growing more distinct as it neared the sand. Ripples spread out from the disturbance. A head rose out of the water, and Jig felt a surge of fear streak from the tips of his ears down to his toes.

“Dragon,” he said. Tried to, rather. His mouth was too dry to speak.