The trek was arduous. As if bare, aching feet were not bad enough, Dirt monsters inhabited the blackened shafts. Not far into their march, Zamani's foot triggered a large silk thread. From the dark came a spinner of grotesque proportions. Its white skin glistened in the torchlight; its mandibles made menacing sounds. ‘Clack! Clack!’ they snapped.

Long, spiked legs reached for them. Iron flashed. Zamani drew his ruby handled knife and walked carelessly into the spinner's embrace, slashing heroically. Takax followed his lead, but with less

skill and fortune. When Takax picked himself up from the rocky floor, gingerly fingering a lump near the wattle of his pait, the spinner lay dead before them.

Creature shells lay all around them. Takax judiciously fashioned crude armor and helmets for the two of them. What a sight they were. Takax was leery of wearing the husks of dead Dirt monsters, but he reasoned it was better than another bruise. Before leaving, they looked at the spinner one last time. It was the first kill of their adventure. To Zamani, the matter seemed small, but to Takax it seemed grand. The conquest filled him. He had learned the limitations of his iron. He had also learned the extent of his will: not only to survive but to survive victoriously.

Dirt monsters were ever-present as they penetrated deeper and deeper. Some crawled, some sprang; all seemed to be a wall, floor, or dark niche - until they moved. Some had soft backs and short legs, while others had shells and mighty hind legs. All had two long quills attached to their heads, all were sickly white, but none survived Takax’ strength and quickening skill.

While it was true that Zamani killed more with greater skill, Takax slaughtered the Dirt monsters with greater enthusiasm. Takax exulted with wild whoops of Shee inner strength. His howls of victory vaulted down the passage, causing the blackness to skitter away.

The mine progressed in sharp switchbacks. Each time their direction changed, they found they traversed a deeper, warmer level. Ancient artifacts littered the rough, rocky floor. While some were useless, disintegrating at the merest touch, others proved to be quite helpful, adding strength and advantage to their continuing battle. A small hammer in Takax’ strong hands proved to be more deadly than his decay-crusted iron. A knocker's pick delivered a single, lethal blow.

To the amazement of the stocky Sith, Zamani often called upon the first Phrava, reciting words of power he had assumed were off-limits to all but the old and Mithal-trained. When Zamani said, “Egloamin!” they were shielded from harm. No creature could breach the invisible force. When Zamani said, “Hobbedy!” the beasts would collide into each other, or simply skitter away into their black holes.

They came, at last, to the Peck's dunny; they stood in the entrance. The dunny vault was so vast that torchlight failed to reach the back of it. Takax took a step forward; something brittle beneath his foot snapped, drawing his torch and attention to the floor. Within the circle of light, sightless skulls peered up from the rubble of the ancient vault. The long-forgotten dwellings reminded them of the boarding far above. Rooms sprang feverishly from rooms, as random and ridiculous as afterthoughts to idle fancies. High, devious walkways connected the misshapen visage. The glowering ugliness of the dunny fairly shouted the madness of its builders.

Zamani suggested they leave, continue down the passage. Takax agreed, but no sooner had their whispers faded than their hearts leapt up in their throats. Thumps and bangs issued from the blackened vault. Wild screams and 'Ban Shee' wails sprang from the pressing gloom to echo loudly from the high ceiling. Both far and alarmingly near, a small army of deformed white Pecks boiled forth. They were no more than four heads high, but the long deadly pole picks they brandished made up for their diminutive stature.

Immediately, Takax waded in, scattering the grotesque creatures by the dozens. He freed two of the pole picks, which he and Zamani used with notable success. The insistent madness of the onslaught seemed endless. Pecks sprang from blackness where nothing seemed to be. They fell from shadows, surrounding the adventurers, who stood back to back, slashing and hacking in a knee-high mass of writhing demise.

The final Peck fell. Echos of iron on iron faded from the dunny. The young warriors looked about on the carnage. Moments had seemed like seasons, but now, the end seemed startlingly sudden. Breathing raggedly, they made their way over the piled corpses to the rock wall, where they sat heavily.

They needed to still their hearts, and make some sense of the moment.

“Tired now,” rasped Takax.

They rested, and moved on; they wanted nothing more to do with the dunny. Quietly, they forced the reluctant blackness with determination and an outstretched torch. Back fled the darkness, as forward they marched. Often, reflective but jubilant eyes locked, and they would share a cautious smile. With new weapons in hand and seasoned success under their belts, they felt invincible.

Their journey stretched on with no indication of the gems they sought. Level after level held nothing save the obnoxious Dirt monsters, which they quickly dispatched. They pressed on, undaunted, choosing to glory even in the length of their quest. They chose to bypass a tributary path at the sloping of the switchback, they dispatched a pest and continued down the incline. They noticed, to their left and right, two large round rocks had been set in the walls. While it seemed curious, neither took the time to question the reasoning for such a work. Most likely, they sealed tunnels.

At the leveling of the incline, Takax leading with torch held high, tripped on a line that was stretched across the floor. A weighty groan issued from the blackness behind them. Heads snapped around, and torchlight leapt up the incline. Fists tightened on weapons, but, it was no beast they heard. One of the large stones rolled toward them with a deafening roar.

“Run!” commanded Zamani.

As fast as their legs could manage, they threw themselves forward, barely ahead of the rolling doom. Chests pounded, baskets clattered; bare feet slapped the tunnel floor in wild abandon. The awful roar of rock on rock grew louder. In the blackness ahead of them, a wide pit appeared, as if it was the mouth of a beast awaiting food. Two morsels raced toward it.

“Jump!” they cried as one.

They hit the broad incline on the other side of the chasm and rolled painfully. The massive stone crashed behind them and rolled forward, wringing from them a united, breathless gasp, but the stone stopped short of bare toes. They waited for what seemed an eternity; no further did it roll, the stone fell back and away. Moments later, it struck the darkness below with a bone-shaking peal. The returning silence seemed quite nearly as loud. Old dust filled their nostrils.

“Coosith!” swore Zamani, coughing up the foul dust.

Takax complained, “Pain. What am I sitting on?”

“Looks like a ladder.”

A second crash rose up to their pointed ears. It was the grinding rumble of collapsing rock walls. Then sprang up the hot orange glow of pyre light, piercing billows of ancient dust, to reach and warm their hearts. They locked eyes and shared in the smile that joined them, the thrill of triumph, and the communion of friends.