The adventurous foursome paled as one man, or rather, as three men and a gnome. The huge monster lunged at them, its maw gaping wide. But its charge was brought short suddenly. A great twang was heard, as of a giant bowstring. And now, looking closely, our heroes saw that the creature was held back by a chain which stretched from a collar on its neck to a winch-like contraption to one side.
“Most clever!” spoke the mage. “Note how shrewdly Inkman has designed this chamber wherein the ferocious snarl even now prowls, roaring, lashing its tail, eyeing us with frustrated predatory zeal. The chain is long enough that the beast can seize anyone who ventures into the chamber, but not so long as to devour those who remain in the corridor.”
“Then how does Inkman get by it?” asked Greyboar.
“See you the winch?” demanded Zulkeh. “No doubt there is some hidden device, located here in the corridor, which enables Inkman to haul back the monster far enough to allow him access to the room which lies beyond yonder door”—here the wizard pointed to a door at the opposite end of the chamber—”wherein rests, as certain as the sunrise, the very relic we seek.”
“Then let’s find the device!” exclaimed Ignace, who immediately began a close investigation of the corridor.
“Bah!” oathed Zulkeh. “What would be the point of this entire arrangement could such a device be found by any would-be reivers who came along? Desist, young man! You will not find it, I assure you. Even I, armed with a lifetime’s theory and practical skill at the discovery of hidden mechanisms, caches, trapdoors and the like, have no hope of finding it. No, no, I fear we have no choice but to overcome the horror.”
“You sure about that?” asked Greyboar.
“I am positive.”
“How about using some magic on the critter, then?” queried Ignace. “You know, cast a spell on it or something?”
Zulkeh shook his head. “‘Twill avail but little. The snarl is notoriously resistant to all forms of magic and magery. I will do my best, I assure you, to utilize those few cantrips which have in the past proved to have some slight effect on the monsters. But, I warn you, the cantrips are unreliable and, even at their best, not very effective. At most, I can perhaps slightly dull the beast’s normally lightning-quick reactions. I fear me that we have no choice but to rely on physical force. Which,” he added quickly, taking a step back into the corridor, “is neither my forte nor my area of expertise.”
“Never fails,” grumbled Greyboar. “When the chips are down, everybody calls for the lowbrow.” He examined the snarl, not, or so it seemed, filled with joyful anticipation of the future.
“A bit dicey, this,” he muttered. “I can whip five times my weight in crocodiles, twice my weight in bears. Even wrestled a walrus once in a circus, when I was hungry and down on my luck. Had him pinned, too, till he got cranky and tried to use his tusks. Had to throttle him, then, which irritated his owner no end. Cost me the job.” He whistled soundlessly. “Oh, boy. Well, best get to it.”
The strangler stripped off his leather jerkin. The musculature now exposed was, depending on one’s perspective, an anatomist’s dream or an aesthete’s nightmare. At once, Greyboar began a regimen of stretching and limbering up exercises which would have crippled your average athletic champion.
Shelyid lowered the sack, his face creased by a puzzled frown. “What are you doing?” Then, as the light of comprehension dawned in his brain: “You’re going to hurt the snarl!”
Greyboar looked up, startled. “You’re worried about me hurting the snarl?” He grimaced. “My concern runs the other way around. Some friend you turn out to be!”
Shelyid looked around wildly, then appealed to his master.
“But, master!” he cried. “We shouldn’t do this! I mean, the snarl didn’t do us no harm! It’s not his fault he’s all chained up here—it’s that Mr. Inkman who’s to blame!”
Zulkeh patted the gnome’s head. “Yes, yes, Shelyid, in the broader historical and ethical perspective there is much to what you say. Yet, look you, dwarf, we deal here in a more circumscribed and limited sphere. ‘Tis legitimate for us to do so, I might mention. For he did not say himself, the great scholar—”