Chapter 8

They hadn't gone immediately of course. Grandfather had sheepishly explained that the declaration had simply seemed fitting at the time. First they ate a small breakfast that consisted mostly of fish that fishing uncle had graciously provided. Then they made sure they had all the equipment they needed with them, sharpened their weapons one last time, and then they set off.

“You know it would have been way more dramatic if we'd walked there,” Lock commented as he leaned over the railing of their moving ship, enjoying the breeze. “Being driven there makes it seem like we're going to an amusement park instead of a dungeon.”

“The dungeon is on the side of the lake that nobody lives on. You would have spent an hour walking and chopping your way through foliage to get there,” fishing uncle said from behind the wheel. He looked to the right and pointed at something in the thick forest. “Like those scrubs over there.”

Lock turned and had to smother a giggle as the sole female of a three-man group tripped and fell face-first into a puddle.

“You'll find yourself riding horseback when you move from Abrakshana's dungeon onto the frontier towns,. Walking everywhere is a waste of time,” grandfather added.

Maybe Lock shouldn't have urged them to reconcile; he was getting ganged up on now. No matter. Outnumbered he may be, but he shan't be out-thought. “I agree that walking may seem a waste of time when one already has a clear destination in mind, but doesn't the act of meandering heighten the chances of noticing things afoul... like a dungeon?”

“He's got you there Abraxas. I didn't find the dungeon while cruising past it. I stumbled on it when I went on land to gather some wood,” fishing uncle said with a chuckle.

A traitor is what he was, Lock noted, changing sides after one rather weak argument. But the tongue-wagging of fools often decided the battle before it even started, as long as the fools were in the majority of course. Very democratic.

Grandfather simply grunted. “Aren't you always talking about how people who don't have clear destinations always end up as failures, Lock? My my, what a flippant change of ideologies.”

“Simply because one is taking one's time does not mean one has no clear goal in mind. It is those who rush forward and think that the initial formulation of their plan is perfect who suffer most drearily,” was Lock's response.

Fishing uncle made a gagging motion, some spit actually flowing out of his mouth and onto his beard. “We're here by the way, if you maybe want to stop your catfight.”

While Lock had been distracting himself with conversation they had indeed arrived at the shore of what appeared to be a very small clearing surrounded by thick forest. The clearing consisted of a few tree stumps and just enough space for one fully grown man to lie down... and that was about it.

They anchored the ship and took a small boat to shore where, upon their arrival, fishing uncle pointed to a weird rock formation in the knee-deep water and rowed his way back to the ship, unanchored it, and sailed away from the clearing until he was several hundred feet away from them, before anchoring it again.

“Why did he anchor it so far away from us?” Lock asked his grandfather with a frown as he started moving rocks away from the opening.

Grandfather was standing alert on the dry land, and answered promptly. “Because there is another party of adventurers, more likely bandits, heading here, and there would be no point in him being caught in the crossfire.”

Lock nodded absentmindedly before he froze up, almost dropping a heavy stone on his foot. He whirled around to glare at his grandfather, who was still vigilantly keeping watch of their surroundings. His thoughts whirred. Grandfather seemed largely nonchalant about the apparent bandits closing in on their position.

He thought back to the three-man party he'd seen on his way here. They had looked a bit shabby even while armed. They'd been young as well, therefore most likely not very strong. If his grandfather knew they were coming here, most likely for the same reason as them, then there was only one question left to ask. “So, did you accidentally let slip in a tavern or so about a newbie adventurer and his frail old grandfather having found a dungeon in the wild where nobody would hear them scream?” he asked dully.

Grandfather smirked at him, a proud look in his eyes. “They overheard me talking to myself while they were attempting to steal a horse from the local tavern. A truly tragic occurrence.”

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