As Wilfred entered the flickering glow, he discovered that the passage was lined with an assortment of high quality, state of the art armour. There was no coherent pattern as far as he could detect. There seemed to be Nordlanic, Ralulee, and Kingdom styles, yet each bore the rearing dragon sigel of Hanon. As he slowly passed these, there was an occasional roar, as if a great burst of breath was being released. These bursts echoed through the cavern. Each of them was accompanied by a momentary increase in the brightness of the passage. At the last of these, he noted a bunk wedged in among the racks of armour and weapons. On the bunk rested the other sentry, a blindfold of sorts shielding his eyes from the periodic flashes of scarlet light, as he slumbered.
Wilfred wasted no time, but quickly repeated the procedure whereby he had captured the other guard. The man thus incapacitated, Wilfred rounded a bend in the tunnel towards the sound of the incessant metallic pounding.
What he discovered was a group of Dwarves working a huge set of bellows and working anvils on which they were affixing dragon crests to armour, or replicating weapons in the styles of those Wilfred had seen in racks.
“Who are you, Boy?” one burly Dwarf snapped, “and where are the guards?”
“Guards?” Wilfred repeated. It was only then that he noticed that the Dwarves were shackled. “I – I um – tied them up.”
“Well then what are you wait’n for?” the lead Dwarf challenged. “Come and unlock us.”
“But, I don’t have a key,” Wilfred replied. “Why don’t you just use your tools to break out?”
“Why don’t you just use your tools?” the Dwarf mocked. “Why didn’t we think a-that? Becuz the chains is bleed’n magic ain’t they?” the Dwarf spat. “Why don’t you go and fetch the bloody key?” the Dwarf said coldly.
Wilfred hurried back to the bunk, and there on a hook was a key with mysterious runes on it. He went back to the Dwarves, and held it up.
“Yes -yes. That’s it,” the lead Dwarf said, “So get on with it.”
“First, tell me where the dragon is,” Wilfred insisted.
“There ain’t no bleed’n dragon, you dunce,” the Dwarf responded. “It’s all a ruze. A ploy. Them Hannies made up the bloom’n dragon caper so they could steal the armour and weapons to equip their army. This place ain’t got no iron to speak of, and no good smitties that’s for certain. So they lure heroes ‘ere and ambush ’em. That’s how they got me and the lads as well. But they kept us alive to do their dirty work. The rest they strip, then toss in the furnace – just long enough to char them – mind. Then they take the bodies back to the border to build up their dragon yarn. Now, about the bloom’n key.”
“I will let you go, but I need you to do something for me first,” Wilfred said.
“And what might that be?” the lead Dwarf asked with a huff.
“I want you to make me a dragon’s head.”