The ' KEYBOARD EXPRESS ' is pleased to bring you..... THE BARD'S TALE GETTING STARTED: Note: Make sure your shift lock is off, and there are no joysticks or cartridges plugged into your system. If you have a C-64, insert the boot disk and type load"EA",8,1. If you have a 128 insert disk and turn on computer. To leave the title page press the space bar. MAKING A CHARACTER DISK: Before you begin playing, you will need to create your own character disk, a disk the computer can write as you play, to keep track of your fortunes and misfortunes. Use the following steps to make a character disk which contains a completely outfitted and ready to go banned of adventures named "ATEAM"". Get a blank disk or one that contains information you no longer need. Select M)ake a disk and follow the instructions to make a copy of your Character disk, which you will find on the flip side of your boot disk. This process can be time consuming. If you wish, you may use another copy utility instead of M)ake a disk. After copying the character disk, reboot the system following the steps outlined above. When the prompt appears asking for your character disk, insert the copy you made, then press any key. (Again, make sure your joysticks are unplugged). The Utilities menu which appears contains 3 choices. To enter the Adventure's Guild so you can start playing, just press "S" for start game. For information about the other two choices, see utilities menu below. The ATEAM: the character disk you made in step one already contains a good beginning party of adventurers who are equipt and ready to go. To use them, just type "A" to add a character, and then type "*ATEAM" to load the entire party. Type "E" to exit the Guild and enter the town of Skara Brae. To learn how to create your own characters, form your own parties, remove characters or rearrange their order, see below. HINT: The first dungeon is the wine cellar in the only tavern in town which serves wine. It's on Rakhir Street. SAFETY AND DEATH Face it. The sort of streets where you run into wandering Kobolds, Werewolves and Orcs are dangerous. And the streets of Skara Brae are especially dangerous at night. Beginning parties, therefore, should not be shy about spending the night in the Adventures Guild. When you leave the Adventures Guild the clock is always set ahead to the next morning. Don't dispair if you lose a favorite ATEAM member. First delete him from your character disk (with the delete command from the disk menu in the Adventurers Guild). Then use the copy characters command in the Utilities menu (described below) to copy the original from the back of the boot disk or the most recently saved version from a backup of your character disk. Finally, add him to your party. MOVING`ABOUT I or Return - move forward K - Kick a door open J or Left Arrow - turn left L or Right Arrow - turn right VIEWING CHARACTERS Press the number (1-6) of the character whose statistics you want to view. In the sub-menu, press: E to E(quip) a character with an item. You will be prompted for the item number (1-8). Press O to unequip all of a character's items. T to T(rade) an item. Type the item number at the prompt. To trade gold, type G. Then type the number of the character you want to give the item to. D to D(rop) an item. Type the item number at the prompt. P to P(ool) all gold. This gives all the party's gold to the character being viewed. Press the SPACEBAR to leave the View Character mode. he old woman shoots. Make a fast exit. Go to the front door of the mansion and ring the bell, then beat feet to the back door. Return to the Trophy Room, grab the painting of Ronald W. Reagan and exit. Show the painting to the macaw then take the mail from under the perch. Notice the Postal Service sticker. YOUR SCORE IS NOW 5 OF A POSSIBLE 21. Go to the llama farm. Open the bag of llama treats. Push the bag through the mailbox so that it falls into the trough. While the llama is eating the treats, take the mail from the trough. Notice the Postal Service sticker. YOUR SCORE IS NOW 6 OF A POSSIBLE 21. Try to enter the farmhouse. The door won't budge. You must go away and return later. Go south to the gate. There's an intercom at the gate. It will crackle to life and a voice will say, "Unfortunately, there's a radio connected to my brain." Could this be a password? Go back to the farmhouse. A heavily armed man resembling Woody Allen will appear in the doorway. He is rather dazed -- not sure where he is or who you are. Say: "Unfortunately, there's a radio connected to my brain." He will respond with: "Actually, it's the BBC controlling us from London." You can try more conversation or merely wait for him to leave. Return to the gate. Again, the voice over the intercom will say, "Unfortunately, there's a radio connected to my brain." You must say, "Actually, it's the BBC controlling us from London.tes of meat increase health by 100 and give a bonus 100 score points. CIDER: Cider bottles can be shot and destroyed. When drunk this acts like food. POISONED CIDER: This can be shot and will slow monsters down for a short time. If drunk, poisoned cider takes 50 health points and makes the character dizzy and difficult to control. KEYS: Score 100 points for collecting. Use keys to open doors. TREASURE: Treasure chests cannot be shot but give 100 points when collected. Some treasure chests are locked and need to be opened with a key. They may contain food, money, a potion, and even Death! AMULETS: These magic devices confer special abilities on the wearer for a short time. INVISIBILTY: Monsters cannot see you and wander around. INVULNERABILITY: Monsters cannot hurt you, but your health decrements twice as fast as normal. REPULSIVENESS: Monsters cannot stand you and run away. TRANSPORTABILITY: The player can now transport through any solid object by running into it. 10 SUPER SHOTS: These shots kill all monsters in their path and keep travelling until they hit a wall. REFLECTIVE SHOTS: These shots bounce off walls allowing players to shoot around corners. These bounce a maximum of three times. WALLS: In general walls are impenetrable objects, but some walls crumble when shot. TRAPS: These glowing patterns on the floor make some walls disappear when stepped on. There can be more than one trap. Traps walls may be invisible. STUN TILES: These tiles stun any player who treads on them and then disappear. TRANSPORTERS: Glowing red discs on the floor, transport players to the nearest visible transporter. If several transporters are the same distance away, then one is chosen at random. There are several ways to influence your direction. Can you find them? FORCE FIELDS: These go on and off in a particular pattern. If a player enters a field when it is on his health will quickly drain. Monsters are not affected. Force fields cannot be destroyed. EXITS: These labeled holes lead down to the next level or to the level specified. Some exits are phoney. They are painted floor tiles. On some levels exits move around by closing and re-opening elsewhere. Treasure room appears randomly and the player has a fixed time to collect as many valuables as possible within a time limit, which is displayed at the top of the screen. There is no score unless the player escapes. In general players are immune to the other player's shots but in some areas of the dungeon, missiles can stun or injure fellow players. If players do not fight for about half a minute, the locked doors will disappear, freeing all of the monsters. Eventually, if players still avoid combat then all of the walls turn into exits! BASIC INSTRUCTIONS Choose the color and character you want by pointing the gauntlet and pressing the FIRE BUTTON. How long you last depends upon your health. Health is lost by contact with the monsters and as time elapses. It can be regained by picking up the food which can be found in the maze. Be careful, some food can be destroyed by your shots and some may be poisoned. The object of the game is to survive the monsters' attacks for as long as possible whilst competing for food, treasure and magic potions. You must also search the maze to find the exit to the next level. For game controls, details will appear on the screen. GAUNTLET II LOADING INSTRUCTIONS Insert the disk in drive and turn on computer. NOTE: Amiga 1000 owners, Insert Kickstart 1.2 or higher before loading your program disk. \\\\\\\\\\\\ Docs provided by THE HELLION & THE CORSAIR //////////// THE NEXT GENERATION / WORLD OF WONDERS s and t(best way to find if a command is present in the version of Knight Orc for your micro, is to try it. * WORDS Turn off the picture * PICTURES Turn them back on again. * OOPS Restore the position as it was before you last moved. OOPS (or UNDO) is a very useful command and, on larger machines, it can be used several times in successio to step backwards through the game. SAVE Stores the game position on cassette or disc. Insert a formatted disk. or start a blank cassette before using this command. (Commodore 64 users may specifify whether to save to cassette or disc by adding ,1 to the filename for tape, or ,8 for disc). When the SAVE has finished, stop the tape, or replace the Knight Orc game disk in the drive, as appropriate. RESTORE Loads a previously SAVEd position from cassette or disc. Enter RESTORE and then answer YES as confirmation. To restore from tape, rewind the cassette on which the position was SAVEd and start it on PLAY (if the cassette doesn't move, press ENTER or RETURN). To resore from disc, put the disc on which the position was saved in the drive, before using RESTORE. If you are asked for a filename or equivalent, enter whatever you called the position when it was SAVEd. When the RESTORE has finished, stop the tape, or replace the Knight Orc disk in the drive, as appropriate. * RAM SAVE Saves the game position in memory. This is quicker than saving on tape or disk, but the data is not as permanent and will be lost if the computer is turned off or reset. * RAM RESTORE Loads a previously RAM SAVEd position. Note: OOPS, SAVE, RESTORE, RAM SAVE and RAM RESTORE can also be entered in response to a YES/NO question. For example, if you have just been killed in the game and the program is asking if you want to play again, you can use one of them to return to a previous position instead. PICTURE MOVING On computers such as the Amiga, MacIntosh, and Atari ST, the moust can be used to move the picture up and down - allowing you to choose how much text is visible below it. Disc versions on some other computers, e.g. the Commodore 64, control this feature by means of the up and down cursor (arrow) keys. COMMAND EDITOR Some of the machines with larger memories provide a command line editor which keeps a copy of your previous commands and lets you edit and re-enter them. The command editor is controlled by the cursor keys, delete and backspace, and works in insert mode. Press cursor-up to display your previous commands: the other details are best learnt by trying it. GAME DETAILS Knight Orc is a single game, with three sections, and you must start with part one. Loosed Orc, and solve this before proceeding. The computer will display instructions on how to do this, when the time comes. Parts two and three, A Kind of Magic and Hordes of the Mountain King, are linked together, and you can move freely from one to the other. SCORING Loosed Orc The idea is to learn the adventure system and tie ropes together to make a single rope, long enought to use in crossing the chasm. You score points according to its size. A Kind of Magic and Hordes of the Mountain King Learn magic, recruit followers and escape. You score points for each spell learnt, each follower recruited (providing they have powers which complement, rather than duplicate your own), plus bonuses for solving the final stage of the game. HINTS When adventurers recognize and orc, they attack. You are not likely to win many fair fights. Why not run away, or distract your opponent, or cheat in some other way. You can't take it with you (usually), so it's better to be poor than dead. ARE YOU REALLY STUCK? TAKE A HINT FROM US..... Blocked by the thorn hedge? Infuriated by the Hermit? Can't recruit the helpers you KNOW are needed to complete this game? Don't despair! Although Rainbird brings you the most fiendishly devised adventures, we've got a heart (who writes this stuff?), so if you are really stuck trying to solve a seemingly unsolvable problem, fill in the Hint Request Form provided with this package. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SIGN OF THE ORC A Short Story by Peter McBride 1 Grok leant against the cobwebbed window frame and stared out over the open plain. The grasslands were sprinkled with the pink and yellow of spring flowers; the scattered trees sparkled with the first unfurling leaves; the air trilled to the sound of larks and linnets; and the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky dappled with pretty little fluffy whit clouds. A perfect Spring day! So different from the year before, and the thirty years before that, when the plains had been bare and silent and shrouded in a smog so thick that day and night were as one; when all that was bright and good had been swept away by the forces of dark. "Cor, what a waste of thirty years!" Grok grumbled. "Must get the lads busy again, and get out there and devastate it." Not that there were that many of them to do much devastating. Only a tattered remnant had managed to stagger back to the Orc's Head Tower after that last battle. Home! - the Orc's Head Tower of Mount Olympus. The guardtower, carved out of the solid rock in the shape of a giant Orc's head, its fang-rimmed mouth the entrance, its empty eye sockets the watchwindows; this was their home. Here they had lived as soldiers of the Dark Lord, guarding the passages and changers of 'Is mountain highness and to here they had returned after 'Is defeat. Here they could find peace and quiet in which to lick their wounds - and other revolting things - and to recover from the terrible ordeal of months of fresh air and sunlight. They had really taken a beating that last time! That great army of Orcs with warg cavalry at the front, Wild Men of the East on the West side (There's a story there as well, they made such a song and dance about everything);Wild Women of the West to the East; ogres, warlocks, witches and trolls in the middle and 'Imself at the head, surrounded by 'Is own demonic creations. They should have(`nnf`fn``%no`fogc am`fff`cf`fokelaf`l`fgf`c` laf`fl`gcccc `d.lc`c````n(es ffff`Jng fgf``lfffafc gofofffffc f`````mmff`ogcf``llfferfalcn$ `% a```4 aacc.s၀fcfffff`(tafcg`!caac`ffa i``fac(e6e cca `$d afffc`a 2e agfag a` n aLJ`a a`ffme`` a` gs.ff`a fpi cc灀 cgh4e r``(ag.sfcffc!tfcfc#egf``f%lg o h`/n``% gc -fff`cff`%dfff`g` hfff`cfa-ec`c/u)t m.g$y.g#h-i4h%,-.wqwpÁwwp4hwwpwwp%dwp!lpwpwwp WwqwpÁps4osp$iers ha q(y&o, f%dh.k% y'?.,!gr/ .k4oi4h%n9e/m h" (e/u9o!"(e G)n2e4h(e O3 s4c3t g$ (i(e9 2o3 . 4h. / + C!v$e. 3k  <e?>>8<~?8k~?>>8x8o8 ?>>88x< i?>>8x?a?>>8<~???? >8 <<<?t is! WX)t"W`f`!vnfg%y`ffc nmacf` -laff` nl`c%f$n fd to haf..,u h4 /u a%n3a7n ground.ing rogues," muttered Grok thoughtfully, as he stepped over Oink and headed up the stairs to the kitchen. "The other half of that rat pie should still be up there....And Oink! he shouted over his shoulder, "...make sure you wear your helmet next time you're bringing me my supper." 2 Brandon the dwarf sat cross-legged on the floor of the dragon's treasure chamber with a large gold plate laid across his knees. He buffed it vigourously until it gleamed in the torchlight, and as he polished he sang a song, to tune of an ancient Ambridge air. "Golden swords and golden shields, Golden cups and saucers. Golden carts with golden wheels, Golden bits and bobs. To get lots of lustre Just muster a duster And use lots of elbow cream, Then sit and buff the golden hoard While I sit and dream." "Shouldn't that be elbow grease?" asked the dragon, who had been supervising operations. "Yes," replied Brandon, "but I couldn't find a rhyme." That was not strickly true. The verse had originally used 'elbow grease' and ended 'Until the dragon's decease', but he wasn't going to sing that out loud. "I say," said the dragon, after a few minutes deep thought, "I've just written a song of my own all about gold. Tell me what you think of my masterpiece... Gold, gold, wonderful gold! There's nothing like it for warming you up when the weather's cold. And when you've got a lot of it. It's handy to have a fellow Who'll spend lots of time polishing it To keep it nice and bring and yellow. ...How about that, then?" "Oh, a marvellous tribumph of the poet's art, O Brilliant One," exclaimed Brandon with as much enthusiasm as he could manage. Then, as he wasn't very good at lying, he changed the subject quickly. "The orcs are back", he said, "I can smell them." The dragon sniffed the air doubltfully. "Are you sure? I can't smell anything." "Well they do say. O Great Fiery Breath, that smoking ruins your sense of smell," Brandon told him. "Well until someone invents smokeless fuel, I haven't got much choice, have I?" replied the dragon huffily. "And frankly, ducky," it added, "I sometimes think it's a blessing. I mean, when did you last have a bath?" Brandon was going to protest about the lack of a bath, or water to put in it, but the dragon hut him up with a snort of black smoke. The dwarf choked and sputtered. "I don't know," said the dragon airily. "Talk about me smoking, but you're the one with the cough. Tut, tut. I bet you smoke as well, when I'm not watching. Tut, tut." It grinned at him complacently. I don't do anything when it's not watching, thought Brandon. Because it's always watching. Because it knows that if it didn't watch me, I'd nick as much of this gold (that I spend my days and nights polishing so lovingly) as I could carry, and scarper. The dwarf stopped coughing and sighed quietly. Patience, he told himself. The time will come. Perhaps he could persuade it to go on an orc-hunt. That would get it out of the way. "Are you going to do anything about them, Oh Winged Orc-Slayer?" he asked the dragon. "They might be after your gold..." "They're not the only ones, sweety," it replied, giving him the eye. "And besides, I don't like orcs." "Isn't that a good reason to hunt them?" Brandon was confused. "No, you fool. I don't like them to eat. That's the only reason I hunt. I'm not a human, you know. I don't do it for fun...Now, if it was humans out there, it would be a different thing altogether. They're tasty!" Brandon sniffed the air hopefully. "I think I can smell a human," he said brightly. The dragon guffawed with laughter, enveloping the dwarf with plumes of smoke..."Ooooh, you are a one!" It clapped him on the back playfully. Brandon flew across the room and came to rest in the ornamental armour and jewelled weapons of war section. (He had decied, some long time before, that if he couldn't steal the treasure, he might at least catalogue it. He got some sense of ownership that way.) "On you way back, Brandon," the dragon called to him, "could you go over to the royal toys and games pile and find the pearl-inlaid dominoes. I fancy a game." Brandon lifted a diamon-studded mace off his chest and struggled upright. The solid gold weapon swung heavily in his hand. One of these days, he thought, I'll have a got at that grinning smoke-box. He shrugged and put the mace neatly back in it place. What good would it do? he told himself. If I got a lucky blow in, I might bruise its shin before it fried - and ate - poor little old me. He went to get the dominoes. The set was suffering from these games. Whenever the dragon was stumped, it would pick out the pearl inlays to change the value of his dominoes. All the sixes and fives turned into fours, and the threes had been split between ones and twos. 3 Meanwhile, seven leagues away, Barney Wallop was resting on his scythe in the field behind the Orc's Head Tavern. He mopped the sweat off his brow and frowened at the acre of close cropped grass. There was a rash of molehills across the centre, and he had seen far too many daisies, dandelions and nettles as he had worked his way across. It was going to take years to turn it back into the smooth green sward that his father had tended so lovingly in the days before the orcs had devastated the countryside around the mountain. Still, he thought, as he tied his red-spotted hanky around his red-spotted neck, it was only the third cut of the spring, and there was quite a while yet before the season started. He might have a decent surface by then, with a bit of luck. He picked up the gleaming, razor-sharp scythe and made to put it over his left shoulder, then thought better of it and transferred it to the other side. He'd already sliced off his right ear by mistake. He didn't want to lose the left one as well. Time for a pint of good ale, and get ready for the lunchtime rush. If the weather held, he'd have a go at those weeds in the afternoon. He walked carefully around the edge of the field and went into the Tavern. "Do our lodgers be back, Jack?" he asked as he entered the Tap Room "Not yet, Mr. Wallop. They'll be right hungry too. They did forget to take the lunch, what the missis had made for them." Jack, the pot boy, polished another pewter tankard with his long white beard and hung it - the tankard - on the rack with the rest. Their well-buffed sides gleamed and twinkled in a beam of sunlight. And so they should! Young Jack had been polishing them daily for seventy years - with a cloth for the first fifty, and then, when cloth was scarse, with his beard. It gave them a lovely, satiny sheen. "Nice job, Young Jack!" Barney complimented him as he always did. "Nearly done?" "Last one coming up, Mr. Wallop." Jack bugged the tankard vigorously, hung it on the rack, then tied a knot in his beard to keep it out of the way for the rest of the day. Barney drew himself a foaming pint and drank slowly, to check its quality, as he always did, then drew another, as he always did, and drank that too, just in case. "I'm not too sure about this keg," he announced, as he always did. "I think I'd better check it again." "I shouldn't if I were you," muttered Jack. "The misis do be watching." (As she usually was.) "Well, I suppose it will be alright," Barney pretended to be unaware of Mrs. Wallop, "though I do like to make sure that my customers get the best." The lunchtime rush, Old Norman and Geffer Smithies, arrived shortly afterwards. Over their pints, they discussed the important things in life; how the grass was getting on in the field, and what Barney should do about moles and daisies; whether or not the dragon would be visiting the village again, now that the Saturday afternoon tournaments were starting up again. (There had been a bit of trouble at the last tournament, thirty years ago - before the orcs finally drove the people away. Some young knight, name of George, hadn't appreciated that the dragon was there by invitation, to roast the ox, and had tried to fight it. The dragon had gone off in a huff, and they had to eat half-raw beef.) Barney was quite hopeful that they would be able to get the Wednesday evening bowls sessions going again. They had brought in a nice bit of trade, before the troubles. "What are you going to use for bowls?" asked Old Norman. "I thought we'd do like we always used to," Barney replied. "I mean, we don't call this place the Orc's Head for nothing." "There be orcs back in the mountain then, be they?" "So, I hear, Gaffer," Barney replied. "I expect to know for sure soon enough though. Them lodgers of mine have gove over that way this morning. If they doesn't come back, then we'll know the orcs are there." "To the mountain? By theyselves?" Old Norman was intrigued. "They be right foolhardy young fellers. What they doing there? In fact, if it comes to that, what do they be doing here at all?" Barney's lodgers had caused quite a stir since their arrival a few days before. Apart from the fact that they came from the Mendips - which being over twenty leagues away made them foreigners - no-one knew anything much about them. They seemed to spend a good deal of time thinking - an unusual pastime in that part of the world, and had been asking a lot of questions about the mountain - though saying little in return. "I don't know what they be at," Barney replied. "And there ain't be no use asking me whey they did head off towards the mountain this morning, 'cos I doesn't know." "Why did they go, Barney?' asked Gaffer Smithies.... 4 "Oink!" It was breakfast time in the Orc's Head Tower. In fact, it was after breakfast time, and still no food on the table. Brok, Brainz, Oleart, Fatty, and the rest of Grok's band sat around the guard-room table looking mean and hungry. Only Flies was chewing. True to his name, he was cathing flies and eating them. "Oink!" Grok bellowed again. "Where's that useless slop hound got to? Brainz, go and find out what's happening in the kitchen." As Brainz left the room, Grok called after him. "Don't forget your helmet!" For the last few weeks, ever since that time Grok had found Oink at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, there had been some funny goings on in the mountain. Several of the orcs had disappeared from their posts and turned up later in other parts of the mountain, claiming not to know how they got there. (Grok suspected secret boozing.) Others had been found lying around with splitting headaches, claiming to have been sneaked up on and clubbed. (Grok still suspected secret boozing, but he was going to make sure that they didn't have any excuses. Hence the Helmet Rule.) "Remember when we was coming back across the mountains, and ran out of food...", mused Oleart, speaking to no-one in particular,"....and we ate Spuds,..." "No, there wasn't no food at all!" interrupted Fatty. "Certainly no spuds. No carrots, neither." "Spuds was one of us, you great stupid lump," Grok growled at him. "Anyway, I reckon we should have eaten Oink instead," Oleart went on. "I know Spudds' cooking wasn't as greasy and burnt as Oink's, but at least it used to get to the table." "Used to climb off again, sometimes, before you could grab hold of it," Grok remembered Spuds cooking too. "Scuse I, Chief.." Brainz put his head round the door,"....but there don't be no sign of Oink nowhere. No food neither!" "No food!" exclaimed Grok. "This is serious. Come on, you lazy pack of cellar rats, let's find him." The orcs scrambled up, grabbed their helmets and ran out into the passage, shouting "Oink! Oink!" 5 Meanwhile, three levels down and a lot deeper into the mountain, Brandon the dwarf had had a spot of luck. A long time before, he had discovered a battered old wooden case in a dusty corner. It was locked, there was no key, so he had ignored it. He knew full well that if there was anything of value inside, the dragon would have smashed it open already. On this particular day, Brandon had been sorting through the clothes heap. It wasn't a very pleasant job, for these clothes were the dragon's equivalent of empty bags and boxes - they were what the food had been wrapped in..But Brandon needed more space to display the collection of jewelled thrones and other furniture, so it had to be done. As he was sorting, he felt something heavy in a pocket, and found a key. And the key reminded him of the old wooden case, and as he would rather do anything else but sort, he thought he would give it a try. The key fitted and turned, and the lid opened to reveal a Complete Adventurer's Kit. Compass, measuring tape, paper, pens and ink for making maps; stethoscope for listening at doors; small drill for making spy holes, soft chalk for marking your trail and a hold-all bag - the sort that you could put all kinds of things in and never fill. Brandon's heart started to race. His brain began to whirr. Here was the answer to his prayers! "Brandon Branniganson! What are you dong skulking over there!" the dragon shouted suspiciously. "Nothing, nothing, Oh Mighty Emperor of the Mountain!" Brandon shut the box quickly and scurried back to his master. "Merely tidying, Your Royal Beastliness." "Found somthing interesting have we?" The dragon fixed an eye on the trembling dwarf. "What was it?" Brandon fluttered like a moth round a burning torch. He knew he could hide no secrets from the light of that stare. He struggled to resist, but felt his defences crumbling, then suddenly - salvation! "Oink! Oink!" A distant echo broke the tense silence in the lair. The dragon shut off its truth glare with a rapid blink, snapped its head round and pricked up its ears. "Oink!" That sound again, but this time deeper, and issuing from another passage. "Pork chops!" said the dragon, smacking its lips. "Haven't had them for years." It waited for another "Oink" to fix the direction, then leapt off its treasure mound and sped out of the chamber. Brandon let out a long sign of relief and sank to the ground. He had been sitting there, saying "Phew, that was close!", for several minutes begore he suddenly realized that he had got the opportunity of a lifetime. He jumped up and ran to get the Adventurer's Kit. His cumming dwarvish brain was working properly now. He thrust the compass and marker chalk in his pockets, grabbed the hold-all bag and dumped the rest of the Kit into it, then scampered round the lair throwing in all the choicest pieces - including the entire Individual Gems and Small Objects d'Art collection - then, when the weight of the bag was as much as he could bear, he headed off out of the chamber in the opposite direction to the dragon. He paused briefly to take off his boots and tie them round his neck, then ran off silently in stockinged feet. He travelled fast, but carefully; checking the compass constantly to keep his direction in the twisting tunnels; marking every awkward junction with his chald in case he had to back track; listening avidly for the sound of orc's or dragon's feet; and sniffing the air as he ran. It was a shame that he could only smell his boots, as otherwise he might have had some warning about the adventurer. As it was, Brandon ran straight into him as he came round a sharpish bend in a passage. He bounced off him and the weight of his hold-all bag tipped him over. Brandon picked himself up, and was delighted to see it was a man - and a pleasant-looking young fellow - that he had crashed into, not an orc, or worse, the dragon! He reached out a hand in greeting, and started to say a cheery "Hello", but the adventurer gestured briefly and spoke a single word of command before Brandon could finish. There was a flash, and Brandon was enveloped in smoke. As the smoke cleared, he found himself in total blackness. 6 The Great Oink Hunt started as a shambles and deteriorated rapidly. No-one believed Brainz' claim that all the food had disappeared, so they all headed for the kitchen to check. There wasn't really room in there for sixteen of them, and when Fatty discovered a small, green furry loaf, there definitely wasn't room for them to fight about it. That didn't stop them from trying. Fatty had scarcely finished saying, "Look what I've got". before he didn't haVE IT ANY MORE. Skraggit grabbed it and shouted "It's mine!". But by then it wasn't. Fatty swung his club at Spindleshanks, who was then holding the loaf, but he hit Oleart, who had gotten in the way. Oleart pulled back his arm to smash Fatty, and poked Grindleguts in the eye, so Grindleguts joined in that fight. Meanwhile, another battle was raging on the floor, where Spindleshanks had dropped the loaf after Skraggit had stamped on his foot. In the end, Grok caught the loaf as it was flung into the air and stuffed it into his mouth before anyone could reach him. With the loaf gone, the fight dwindled to a hald, with a few last flows geing flung to settle scores. "Right, enough messing about!" he ordered, spraying green furry breadcrumbs as he spoke. "There'll be nothing else to eat until we find Oink. So let's get busy". "And if he hasn't got the food, do we eat him?" asked Oleart hopefully. "We'll see," muttered Grok darkly. With only sixteen orcs in his command he didn't want to see the numbers reduced any further, but Oink was being a nuisance, getting himself robbed and lost and all. "Spread out and find him." Grok tried a grand sweeping gesture to inspire his troops, but in the overcrowed kitchen he finished up with an arm in Oleart's mouth. He only just got it out in time. The orcs followed Grok down the stairs and out into the passages below. From there, they fanned out in sixteen different ways, and set the ancient stone walls ringing to the cries of "Oink". Grok had tramped around half the morning, shouting himself hoarse, when he had an inspiration. The Dark Tower! Where 'Imself used to live in days gone by. The Dark Lord had never been one to miss out on life's little luxuries, and Grok decided that a visit to his cellars ought to be worth the effort. Any food that had been left should be well rotted by now, and "Is fancy wines ought to have gone at least a bit vinegary. The more he though about it, the better he liked the idea. Grok turned for the Tower and hurried off. The Tower had changed since Grok's last viosit. Then it had been clean and warm and dry - on account of 'Is Eternal Fire that blazed away all the time. It was much nicer now, cold and damp and thick with spider webs and rat droppings. Grok made a note to send Oink here - once they'd found him - to get some more rats for pie-making. Grok smashed the lock on the cellar door with his club, then dropped the club to get a good two-handed grip on the heavy door. He l\heaved it oven slowly, then growled with pleasure. What a sight met his eyes, and what a stench assaulted his nostrils! Big hams and joints of venison shimmered blue-green in the torchlight; fermenting cakes fizzed and popped soggily; mice scampered in and out of huge round cheeses; and in the middle of the floor stood three wooden casks, their lids rising and falling gently as bubbles of gas escaped. The orc went straight to the nearest cask, took off his helmet and filled it with dark, sour wine. He drank deeply. "Aaah!" he sighed with satisfaction, the "Uuuh!" he sighed as he slumped to the floor. He had been hit on the head with his own club and - him not wearing his helmet and all - been knocked out. The roving adventurer who had just bopped him, examined the cellar carefully, making a note of anything that might prove useful, then strode off with Grok's club tucked into his belt. There were other adventurers at large in the mountain that day, as Fatty, Oleart, Spindleshanks, Skragget, Fenay and Samantha (his father had a wicked sense of humor and couldn't stand orckids) discovered to their cost. One by one, their searches came to sudden, violent ends. 7 Elsewhere, Brainz and Grindleguts had got their own kind of trouble. They had met up on the second level below the guard-room, and decided to join forces. They had both noticed that the tunnels were no longer ringing with cries of "Oink!" in the same way that they had been at the start of the hunt. In fact, apart from another voice somewhere on the next level down, they couldn't hear anybody else at all. "Do you think they've all given up, Brainz?" asked Grindleguts. "I hope that's what it is," he replied. Brainz hadn't said anything about it to anybody else, but he had had rather a nasty experience only a couple of days previously. He'd been walking along, minding his own business. (Well, more or less. Actually, he'd just been into Grok's room and picked his pockets while he was asleep.) Anyway, so there he was, wandering down an empty passage, sorthing through the booty that he was carrying in his helmet when, suddenly, this human appeared from nowhere and - bonk! - that was the last he knew about it. He hadn't said anything, partly because no orc ever likes to admit being beaten, but mainly because Grok would ask why he wasn't wearing his helmet. Grindleguts had also had a similar experience, which he hadn't said anything about either, on account of the fact that he was raiding the kitchen at the time. So when Brainz suggested that they joined forces, he was very happy to agree. They decided to go in search of the orc they could hear down below, but to keep on shouting for oink in case they met Grok. The didn't meet Grok. They met the dragon. It was lying in wait inside one of the great halls that were carved out of the lower levels of the mountain. As they entered, it pounced with a cry of "Roast Pork and Crackling!" and landed flat on the pair of them. It lay on top for a moment, chuckling greedily, until it realized that its prey didn't quite smell right, and felt rather too lumpy. It eased itself upright, with a claw clamped heavily over each of them, and examined its catch. "Orcs!" it said with disgust. "Yuck!" Then it picked up Grindlguts and asked him where the pigs had got to, but the orc was too flattened to speak. "Pah!" it snorted, tossing Grindleguts over its shoulder. It walked off, over Brainz, and continued its hunt outside. Brainz and Grindlguts had just about managed to stagger upright when he dragon came back. It picked one up in each claw and sat back on its haunches. "Right, you two nasty, smelly little things! Where are those pigs?" It demanded, shaking them around a bit to show it meant business. "W-W-W-W-W-h-h-h-a-a-t-t-t-p-p-p-i-i-i-g-g-s-s-s?..." asked Brainz. The dragon stopped shaking him as it couldn't tell if he was lying with his head wobbling so much. "Those pigs out there. Didn't you hear them going Oink?" "That was us," Brainz told him. "Nonsense. Orcs don't go 'Oink', they go 'Kill! Eat! Smash! Ravage!'," The dragon was not convinced. "They do when they're looking for him," said Brainz timidly. "Looking for who?" It was getting confused by this conversation. "Oink" replied Grindleguts. "Ah-Ha!" snapped the dragon. "So you're the one who thinks he's a pig. Well perhaps I'll see if you taste like one." It brought the struggling orc closer to its great jaws with its massive, smoke-blackened teeth. "No! No!" cried Grindleguts. "Oink is the name of the orc we're looking for!" he gabbled. The dragons great flared nostrils twisted as they filled with the smell of the orc, and it decided against eating him. But it was still determined to get to the bottom of this pig business. "Does this Oink-orc think he's a pig, then?" It asked, but before either could answer, another cry of "Oink!" echoes into the chamber. "That is definitely a pig!" The dragon dumped them on the ground, with strict instructions to keep quiet and not frighten it off, then it sneaked away on tiptoes. The orcs listened carefully. The next "Oink!" was cut off in mid-Oink, but they could still ear the dragon's claw clattering quietly along. Something else had got to their fellow orc first. shortly afterwards there was the noise of a scuffle, then a triumphant "Ah-Ha!", followed by the sound of the dragon marching off dragging something behind it. Grindleguts and Brainz waited until it was quiet, then crept cautiously out to see what had happened. They found Flies slumped in a doorway, his helmet rolling slowly around beside him. "I only took it off for a minute to scratch my head," he moaned. 8 Brandon stood in total darkness and tried to work out what had happened. Had that adventure-magician made him blind? Cast him into some limbo at the edge of the AfterLife? Or was there some less drastic explanation? Perhaps he was in a bag. The dwarf waved his arms about. No, he wasn't in a bag, and now that the smoke was clearing from his nose, he noticed a foul but comfortingly familiar, smell about the place. He was still in the mountain. It positively reeked of mould, damp, dirt and orcs - mouldy, damp, dirty orcs. And his acute hearing told him that he wasn't alone..... "Who's there?" he asked cautiously. "Oink". "Oh. A pig. Hello, little pig. I hope the dragon doesn't find you." "No, that's my name!" siad Oink crossly. "Cool. A talking pig with a funny name! Hello, Nothats. you are a nice little pig, aren't you? Not a nasty big boar?" Brandon asked hopefully. "I am not a nice, flaming little pig..." "Oh!" cried Brandon, sounding worried. "...And I'm getting fed up with cracks about my name. So any more stupid remarks from you, and I shan't just get fed up - I shall get fed! Know what I mean?" Oink growled meanacingly and ground his teeth together. Brandon knew exactly what he meant and edged away from the voice. After that, neither of them spoke for some time, Brandon wondering what to do, and Oink not much caring. The orc had had more than his fair share of trouble with adventurers in the recent past - this was not his first experience of being teleported, and he had lost count of the number of times he had been bashed over the head. So he had decided to stay where he was for the time being. It was nice and dark and damp and quiet and that there were no adventurers around, and that was enough for him. "Excuse me, Mr. Oink..." Brandon began politely, breaking the long silence, "but do you know where we are?" "Wherever those blasted humans have sent us. Pah! Teleporting they calls it; flaming nuisance I calls it!" Oink spat. Brandon could hear the orc's angry silence, and waited for him to simmer down before speaking again. "Er...excust me, Mr. Oink, Sir, but do you think we should try to find a way out of here?" "No." So that was the end of that conversation. After a while, Brandon decided that he was gong to get out - with or without the orc's help. He started to fumble his way round the pitch black room. It was not particularly big, but it did have a lot of arches and alcoves, and the floor was not very even. After a while, Oink, who could see quite well in the dark, got tired of watching the dwarf stumbling and bumbling around. It was difficult to sulk in that atmostphere. "It's over there," he told the dwarf. "What is?" asked Brandon, "and where is it?" "The door. That's what you want isn't it? It's in front of you and left a bit." The orc watched as Brandon tried to work out which was his left hand. "You better mind that hole in the floor" he added. "What hole?" asked Brandon. But he soon found out. The hole was at the top of a smooth, round shaft. It dropped more or less straight down for twenty or thirty feet, then angled off first right, then left, then right again, bounding Brandon around so that he finished up head downwards, before settling into a steady helter-skelter spiral - the sort where you can really build up speed. And Brandon buklt up speed. He must have been travelling at over forty leagues an hour when he reached the bottom of the spiral. There the shaft straightened out, and flattened out, and Brandon lost speed steadily - if painfully - as he bumped along the uneven bottom, before flying out into open space and falling heavily face-downwards into a mound of gold coins. "Ooh! Hello, Brandon love. I thought I'd lost you!" The dragon was pleased to see his little friend return. "Where have you been? I was getting quite worried about you!" The dwarf rolled over slowly and looked around. How was it, he wondered, that when you want to get to a dragon's treasure chamber, it is impossible to find, but that when you want to avoid it, it is impossible to miss. And Brandon did want to avoid it. He had not forgotten that he had stolen a sizeable chunk of the treasure, and that the dragon was liable to get into the most dreadful rages if it misplaced so much as a single coin. He studied the dragon warily, trying to work out what line he should take. Should he confess all and throw himself at the dragon's mercy? No, the dragon didn't have any for him to throw himself at. Should he deny everything, or try and blame the theft on an adventurer? Perhaps, but lies would only work as long as the dragon didn't give him The Eye. It seemed to be in a very good mood - that was often a bad sign - but it was picking its teeth with a pearl handled dagger, so it must have eaten recently - that was a good sign. "Did you get your pig, then?" he adked, by way of conversation. "Don't be silly, there weren't any pigs. It was just those stupid, noisy orcs!" the dragon spoke as if it had never thought otherwise. "But I did find a human! Tasty young fellow too. One of those - what do you call 'em - adventureres. Do you know," it added confidentially, leaning over towards Brandon, "the naughty mad had been trying to seal some of my treasure. He had this whole bagful. Look!" The dragon pointed to Brandon's bag that lay on the floor between them. "I say, that's awful. Gosh, anyone who tried to steal that really deserved what he got!" Brandon tried to put feeling into his voice, but the only thing he really felt was pur relief. 9 Grok struggled to sit upright, then sat with his head cupped in his hands. Strewth! That wine was strong. He'd only had one swig and it had blown the top of his head off! It was almost as if someone had clubbed him. The orc staggered to his feet, contemplated having a drop more to drink - the hair of the warg that bit him, he thought, might dull the throbbing in his head - but decided against it. For one thing, he couldn't find his helmet to drink out of. (It had dropped into the wine barrel, and by the time he had woken up, it had entirely dissolved.) He looked for his club, but he couldn't find that either, so he took a big, blue-green leg of venison off a hook. It would do as a club if he ran into trouble, and he could eat it if he didn't. He headed off back up the stairs and out into the main tunnel complex, to see how the Oink Hunt was getting on. He didn't get very far. In the great ante-chamber by the back door to the Dark Tower, he met an adventurer. Grok recognized the club tucked into the man's belt, and realized what had happened in the cellar. He decided to take his revenge on the adventurer. He grinned evilly to himself, this was going to be fun. The adventurer was a little old man with a long white beard that was tied into a knot. He saw the orc coming across the chamber and reached quickly into the pocket at the front of his apron and took out a note-pad. "Now where was it?" Young Jack muttered to himself, flicking through the pages as the orc advanced on him, wielding the leg of venison menacingly. "Ah! Here we are!" He pointed a finger at Grok and uttered a single word of command. There was a flash and a bang, and Grok turned into a frog. "Grok?!?!" croaked Grok, meaning "What happened?", as he crawled out from under the leg of venison. "Hee, hee, hee!" cackled Young Jack. "That was good! But it wasn't what I wanted. Let's have another go and see if I can get it right." He rummaged through his notepad again, found a later entry and tried to point at Grok as he hopped around. "Keep still, will you! You silly frog!" he demanded, but he had to wait until Grok settled down for a dip in a small puddle before he could get a fix on him. Young Jack spoke another word of command, and was pleased to find that it was the right one. There was another flash and a bang and Grok was enveloped in smoke. When the smoke cleared, the puddle was frog-less. Meanwhile, seven leagues away, Grok had found himself on the edge of a closely cropped meadow. "Grok?" he croaked. (Translation: "Where am I?") "Grok, Grok!" (Translation: "Hello handsome!") A large green female frog came hopping out of the hedgerow to join him. "Grok, grok gro-ok?" (Trans: "Do you come here often?") "Grok!" croaked Grok. (Trans: "Help!") "Grok gro-grok grok-grok?" (Trans: "Fancy a trip down to the pond?") she ogled him with big watery eyes. She was a big one, more than twice his size, with massive meaty thighs, forelegs as thick as carrots and rolls of spare fleash that undulated as she waddled. Under different circumstances, Grok would have fancied her (for lunch) but just then, Grok didn't fancy her for anything. "Grok!!" croaked Grok. (Untranslatable.) He turned and hopped off as fast as he could. The frog wooped a king of froggy "Tally-ho" and set off in pursuit. Grok, being smaller and lighter, had the acceleration, but she had the staying power. By the time he was half-way across the field, he was starting to tire, but she was still coming on strongly. Desperation spurred him on, but it was useless. At last, with a merry "Gro-o-ok!" she landed on top of him and pinned him to the ground. "Gr-rok grok gro-gro-grok!" (Trans: "Oooh that was fun!") she croaked. "Grok-grok-grok." (Trans: "Now give us a kiss.") Grok crouched transfixed as her head came closer and she gave him a big froggy kiss. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that it wasn't happening. He had the most peculiar swelling feeling as her lips touched his. When he opened his eyes he discovered that he had returned to his normal self. The female frog looked up in surprise and disappointment. "Perhaps I do fancy you after all" said Grok. He reached down, picked her up carefully and slipped her in his pocket. She would do for supper if he didn't find anything else. Now, where was he? Grok looked around. There was a tavern over on the other side of the field - and an orcish one! At least, Grok assumed that the picture of the orc on the inn-sign meant that. He tramped across the grass, kicking at the daisies and sending clods of turf flying through the air. He hated flowers, and he hated well-groomed grass. Barney Wallop caught sight of him through the back window of the Orc's Head Tavern. He grabbed his scythe and started for the door. "You may be kicking at my meadow now, Mr. Orc," he muttered darkly, "but you'll be rolling on it next Wednesday!" "Edna!" he shouted to his wife, "I'll be back in a minute. There's an orc out on the green. I could use him." "Hey! So could I!" Mrs. Wallop called quickly. "With Young Jack away, we could do with an extra pair of hands. You try and get ahead now, and we'll be all behind come Saturday night." "You're right. He could be handy," Barney was forced to agree. "Well, I suppose I shan't be needing any bowls for nearly a week. Perhaps Young Jack will have got over his foolishness and come back by then." He put down the scythe and took up his pacifer - one of Mrs. Wallop's stockings half filled with sand. He saw that the orc was heading for the tavern door, and lay in wait just behind it. As Grok waked in, Barney tapped him on the head with his pacifer. It was a carefully judged bonk, designed to show the orc who was boss, without impairing the roundness of his skull. He caught the orc by a pointy ear as it sagged beneath the blow. "Right, Mr. Orc. There's plenty more where that one came from if you give me any trouble. Do you understand?" Barney demanded. Grok didn't understand anything. Things were just happening tto fast for him to keep up with himself. In the space of half an hour, he had been clubbed, frogged, teleported, hopped after, unfrogged, lost and pacified. He shook his head dotefully. Barned bopped him again and repeated his question. The message got through that time. Grok nodded. Barney led him over to behind the bar and showed him the dirty tankards that were piled up beside the sink. "Now Mr. Orc. You're going to was that lot - clean! Get them nice and polished - bright! Understand?" He swung Mrs. Wallop's stocking in front of Grok's eyes. Grok moaned. "Washed! Polished! Cleaned! Bright! Ooooooh!" But he nodded and reached for the first tankard. He looked at the hot soapy water in the sink and grimaced with distaste. This was awful! He gritted his teeth and tried to wash a tankard without getting his hands wet. It wasn't possible and Grok watched with horror as the dirt began to come off his hands. Barney encouraged the orc with his pacifier, until he was satisfied that he was doing a good job, then he got on with his own chores (chiefly beer-tasting) while keeping a watchful eye on his new pot-boy. That day, Grok learned to wash up, polish (though he had to use a cloth as his wispy, scraggy beard was useless for that job), carry logs and mend the fire, sweep the floor, muck out the stables, chop wood - under the supervision of Mrs. Wallop who was far more terrifying than her husband - make beds, and fetch casks and bottles up from the cellar. He also learnt some other interesting things. It seemed that the tavern had become a center for adventurers. Some merchant-magicians, working from one of the back rooms, were selling guide books to the mountain - guide books to HIS mountain! Travelers wer coming from far and wide, buying their guide books and heading off across the plain to the Orc's Head Tower. Those that discovered the teleporting secret would pop back for a drink or something to eat every now and then. They would stand around the bar boasting about how many orcs they had bashed or robbed or teleported to who knows where. Grok kept his head down and listened. If they were all telling the truth, there were a lot more orcs scattered about the mountain than he thought. He hoped they were right; as soon as he got back home, he would gather them all together, march back to the Tavern and do for those guide book merchants. Grok also learned that there was to be some sort of shindig on Saturday, and that the dragon would be coming. He wondered if he could hitch a lift back with it. It certainly might be possible to slip away when the place was busy. Finally, he learned that there was to be a bowls match on the following Wednesday. For some reason, they all expected him to be playing in it. He did try explaining that he didn't know how to play bowls, but Barney Wallop just laughed (rather unpleasantly, though Grok) and said "Don't worry about that, Mr. Orc. It's just a matter of using your head." 10 Brandon had been sitting in the corner plucking at the zither for most of the morning. He was trying to remember a song he had learned as a child. At last, he called to the dragon. "I think I've got it now. Would you like to hear it?" "Is it about gold?" asked the dragon, who liked songs, but most of all loved those that were about gold. "Actually, no. This one is called The Gay Dragon." Brandon replied. "Oooh! That sounds fun!" it cried, and stopped polishing its claws so that it could listen properly. Brandon struck up a chord and began: "There was a gay dragon Who lived in a cave. It was fiercesome and ugly And not very brave..." "Just a minute!" the dragon interrupted him. "Are you sure about those last two lines." Brandon caught the glimmer in the dragon's eye, and said that perhaps he had got it a bit wrong. So he started again. "There was a gay dragon Who lived in a cave, It was ever so handsome And terribly brave...." The dragon beamed and nodded. Brandon carried on. "He liked to get up In the dawn's early light Though he often slept in If he'd had a big Knight. In the midst of the day When the sun shone on high He liked to tuck in To a real shepherd's pie. If it met a fair maiden. It knew how to treat her. It would crown her with myrtle, Then roast her and eat her." "Personally, I prefer them flavored with rosemary," commented the dragon, "but otherwise, that was a nice verse. Are there anymore?" Brandon couldn't remember any, but he offered to make some up. "Good idea! I like to hear about gay dragons. But not now, Brandon," it said, stretching and flappin its wings. "Time we were off to the pub." "To the pub?" this was news to the dwarf. "Well, it's Saturday isn't it? I always go to the pub on Saturdays in the season - as long as that obnoxious Sir George isn't there! Where do you think I get my best firewater from? It doesn't grow on trees you know! Come on. Climb on my back and I will give you a ride." "But what about your treasure?" asked Brandon, spotting an opportunity. "Don't you think I ought to stay and guard it? There are thieves about you know." "Yes, I know, my little dwarvish friend," it said, and gave Brandon a very meaningful look. "Don't worry about my treasure. I've got a spell or two up my sleeve. They don't call me Puff the Magic Dragon for nothing, ducky." Puff! That was news to Brandon. So Brandon, the dwarf had his first taste of flying. It was a hair-raising experience for the dragon was rather out of practice, and was starting to get fat on his new diet of adventurers - quite a lot had come too close to its lair in the last few days - but they made it. The green behind the Orc's Head Tavern was ablaze with color. Bright striped pavilions dotted the field; knights in shining armour and intricately painted and embroidered surcoats did their limbering-up exercises with much clanking and dqueaking of badly-oiled joints; ladies in long flowing robes of red and purple and gold sat sipping infusions of herbs and nibbling delicately on thinly-sliced cucumber sandwiches; liveried servants ran hither and thither for their masters. The poeple waved gaily as the dragon glided in over their heads and landed with a long skidding belly-flop. "Oooh!" it said as they came to a halt in front of Barney Wallop and an ox on a spit. "I do wish you would do something about those molehills! That was quite painful!" "Sorry Puff, old chap." said Barney cheerfully. "How are you then after all these years? Let's have a look at you....Yes, just as fat and ugly as ever!" He laughed and rubbed the dragon's muzzle playfully. "Right, then! Down to business, eh?" Let's get this ox going. And none of your nibbling this time! I've got lots of folks to feed today, so I'll need all four of its legs." The landlord waggled a finger at the dragon as he gave it its orders. Brandon was horrified to hear him talking to the dragon that way. Surely it would frazzle him up for being so familiar? But no! It just snorted with laughter and said, "Oh, Mr. Wallop. As if I would!" The drarf could only stand and stare at the dragon being put through its paces. It roasted the ox beautifully, showing total control over its fire, so that the meat was crisp and tasty on the outside, but tender and juicy within. The rich smells soon began to waft across the green. People came and ate and wandered off and came back for more all through the long afternoon and evening. There was much excitement and applause over on the other side of the green, but Brandon didn't see much of it. He had discovered early on that the big people either tron him underfoot, unseeing, or if they noticed him they would pat him on the head and say "What a nice little chap!" Brandon could not decide which was worse, so he tucked himself out of the way under the dragon's belly. It was warm and cosy there, and occasionally the dragon would use a sharp claw to lice off a piece of ox, and toss the hot juicy meat to the dwarf. At least, well fed and comfortable, he fell fast asleep. Over in the Orc's Head Tavern, Grok was neither well fed nor comfortable. He was being rushed off his feet fetching and carrying, and all the washing up was making his hands disgustingly soft and clean. Whenever he got the chance, jhe would slip to the back window to spy out the situation on the tournament field. He had spotted the dragon and was trying to think of some way in which he could sneak out there and clamber on its back without anyone - especially the dragon - noticing, but he wasn't getting far with his plans. Mrs. Wallop never let him out of her sight for more than a few seconds at a time. She kept him on the run, or at the sink, just about all the day. As twilight came, Grok saw the squires starting to pack up the little changing pavilions, and he still hadn't found a way to escape from the tavern. He was getting desperate. Just then, Barney Wallop poked his head around the tavern door and ordered Grok to run down to the cellar for two casks of best applejack, then bring them out to him. Grok's hopes rose. He got the casks and hurried to find the landlord. His hopes rose even further when he heart that he was to take the casks over to the dragon. "You clamber up and settle the casks between his shoulder blades, while I go round the front and say goodbye to it," Barney ordered him, "then get back to the missis and finish the washing up." "Yes, Sir, Mr. Wallop," Grok sounded polite and keen. Barney congratulated himself on the success of his pacifier treatment, and wondered vaguely whether or not he ought to buy a set of wooden bowls after all. Young Jack still hadn't come back - except to pop in for a quick pint and disappear in a flash of smoke as soon as Barney had mentioned work. The landlord started gossiping with Puff about this and that - the dragon was particularly interested in the problem of molehills on the landing stip, and wanted to discuss a range of possible cures - so that by the time they had finished, Barney had completely forgotten about the orc. As for the dragon; when it was time for it to fly off, it felt the weight of Grok on its back, assumed it was Brandon, and went straight home. 11 Grok slipped off the dragon's back as it crash-landed in the mouth of the Orc's Head Tower. He rolled over into the shadows at the side and lay quietly until it had gone off deep into the tunnels. Then - bliss! - he found a really slimp patch of muck and got himself filthy again. Ah, it was good to be home! But where were the guards? No sign of them! What was going on? "Oi!" he bellowed. "Where are you, you useless lumps of mouldy suet? Who's supposed to be minding the door? Come here this minute!" The orcs - including those supposed to be on guard duty - were all crammed into the guard-room two floors up. They were trying to decide who should be chief, on account of Grok having disappeared. Brainz thought he should be because he was the cleverest, he said. Samantha said he ought to be because he was the nastiest. They all agreed about that. oink, who had finally stopped sulking and rejoined the others, said he ought to be because he knew where there was a cask of orc-brandy, and he wouldn't tell them if they didn't let him be chief. That was a mistake. They all sat on him, pulled his ears, poked him in various places, and did other unpleasant things until he told them where the cask was. They they went and got it, and had a booze up. By the time Grok returned, the brandy had run out, and they had got back to arguing about who should be chief. It was between Brainz and Samantha, now that Oink has lost his trump card. The two contenders had tried staring each other out, arm-wrestling and shouting contests - all of which were declared draws by the other orcs. They were now shaping up for a club fight, but couldn't agree on the rules. They were still shouting about it when Grok came into the guard-room and demonstrated the qualities that had made him the unchallenged leader of the band. He snatched up a club and knocked the pair of them down with a single blow. "Stop mucking about, you dozy lot." he snarled. "There's work to be done." He gave them their orders. They were to scour the mountain tunnels - in bands of not less than four - from top to bottom, and find all those scattered orcs that he had heard the bar-room adventurers talking about. Then they were to restring their bows, straighten their arrows, sharpen their scimitars, and put new spikes in their clubs. After that, there would be a couple of days square-bashing to lick them back into shape. Then, when they had been welded into an efficient fighting machine, they were going to march on the Orc's Head Tavern and knock seven bells out of those guide book merchants. Grok would teach those humans to sell tickets to his mountain! The scouring of the mountain wasn't as profitable as Grok had hoped. They did turn up nine orcs that no-one had known about, but two of them had been so battered by adventurers that they were no use for anything apart from moving-target practice. Still, they were quite useful for that. Re-equipping the troops could have been easier. Most of the orcs had lost most of their weapons in the route after the last battle, so they had to go and get new ones from the old armoury in the Dark Tower. This shouldn't have posed any problems, but Young Jack had taken a fancy to the place and wouldn't let the orcs near it. He turned Orleari and Samantha into frogs as soon as they set foot in it, and Grok had to club Flies to stop him from eating them. Fortunately, Grok still had his emergency rations - the female frog - in his pocket, and she was pressed into service to restore his soldiers. Even that caused trouble! The female didn't fancy Oleart, nor did he fancy her, and they hopped off in different directions. The orcs managed to catch them, but couldn't get them to kiss and make up. In the end, Brainz had a brilliant idea. He gave them a single worm to eat, and their lips touched in the middle. that sorted out Oleart, but it still didn't solve the problem of Young Jack. They could have ended up having to go into battle armed only with a few clubs and their own natural weapons - teeth, claws and bad breath - but they were saved from this by the intervention of Grok's girlfriend (as she was called behind his back). The female frog had hopped off into the Dark Tower in search of food or a mate - the orcs didn't know which, though Grok had a good idea. Young Jack tried out one of his words of commnd on her, and turned her into a barmaid - complete with a tray full of pewter tankards of beer. The last the orcs heard, before Young Jack led her off to an inner room and shut the door, he was explaining how you could get a really good sheen on pewter by polishing it with a beard, although the barmaid, not being a dwarfess and therefore not having a beard, might like to try it with her hair instead. Perhaps if she let it down, they could give it a try, Jack was heard to suggest as the door slammed. "Now I wonder what'll happen if he gives her a kiss?" pondered Brainz. "Who cares, as long as it takes hm a few minutes to find out," said Grok, and hurried his orcs off to the armoury quyickly, while there was still time. Grok then tried to lick his undisciplined rabble into an army, but after two days he decided that enough was enough, and that it was time to lead his undisciplined rabble to war. So one twilight towards the end of the following week, Grok and the twenty-three orcs that he had gathered into his band set off over the Orc's Tongue Bridge with murder in their hearts, bows and clubs on their backs, scimitars and arrows by their sides and mouse sandwiches in their pockets. Through the long night they marched, swiftly and silently, striking terror into the rabbits that they met on their way. (Grok was sure that they would have terrified anything, but rabbits were all that they met.) As dawn brokd the orcs stopped for a breather behind the long hedge that ran along the back of the tournament field. The Orc's Head Tavern lay quite still. The shutters had still not been thrown back from the windows, and smoke did not yet rise from the chimney. 12 Inside the tavern, Brandon slept fitfully. It had been very kind of Mr. Wallop to offer him bed and board for the week until the dragon came back again, but Brandon could not get used to the bed. After so many years of sleeping on hard stone floors, or in the - even harder - crook of the dragon's tail, the bed was just too soft. He had tried sleeping on the floor instead, but that had its own problems. The Wallops had a dog. It might have been a guard-dog once; now it was more of a fire-guard. It certainly kept everyone well away from the fire, for though old and slow, it still had a nasty temper. When the hearth grew cold in the middle of the night, the dog would look for somewhere warm to lie. And if Brandon was asleep on the floor, 'somewhere warm' meant on top of the dwarf. So Brandon lay safely on the bed, and dozed as best as he could. But Brandon was also suffering from Landlord's Elbow, (not to be confused with Housemaid's Knee) and that kept him awake. Mr. Wallop's offer of bed and board had not been entirely out of kindness. With the orc gone and Young Jack still off playing at being an advennturer, the Orc's Head was without a pot-boy. Brandon was pressed into service. The dwarf didn't mind the washing and polishing - he was very good at that, having had lots of practice in the treasure chamber - but whenever he was working at the sink, and Mr. Wallop was serving at the bar, he had an attack of Landlord's Elbow. Every time Mr. Wallop pulled a pint, Brandon got an elbow in his left ear. It was getting quite sore. Most of all though, Brandon was afraid that the orcs would attack before Saturday came round and the dragon would be back to keep him safe. He had also heard about the guide book merchants, and could guess how any orc would feel about that bvusiness. it was a reasonable bet that the orcs would be back to put a sop to that little caper. The only real question was "When?" At least he could rest easy over one thing. He had managed to persuade the magician-merchants to pack their bags and clear out while it was still safe. They had not be