Problems

The journey was slow, the wagon’s wheels groaning under the weight of the disguised gold. The iron illusion held strong, but the burden remained—every bump and rut in the road sent a jolt through the frame, making the horses strain against their harnesses.

For the first two days, the road remained quiet. A few wandering merchants passed by, sparing little more than a glance at what they assumed was a haul of worthless ore. Even bandits, lurking at the edges of the trail, seemed uninterested.

But as we reached the wild stretches beyond the main roads—where law faded and only cunning or strength mattered—trouble found us.

The attack came at dusk, just as we were setting up camp for the night. The first warning was the silence. The usual calls of insects and night birds had faded, replaced by an unnatural stillness.

Zapper was by the fire, stirring a pot of stew, when he stiffened. “We’ve got company,” he murmured.

I turned, my hand already on the hilt of my blade. The first shape moved at the tree line—then another, and another. A dozen figures emerged from the shadows, their weapons glinting in the dying light. Their leader, a wiry man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw, stepped forward.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyeing the wagon. “That’s a mighty heavy load you’ve got there. Iron, is it?”

Zapper stood slowly, brushing dust from his robes. “That’s right. Iron ore from the mines.”

The scarred man smirked. “Funny thing about iron. Not really worth robbing.” He took a step closer, tilting his head. “Unless, of course, it ain’t iron.”

The way he said it made my skin crawl. Somehow, they knew.

Zapper let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what you think we’re carrying, friend, but if you’re looking for easy pickings, you’ve made a mistake.”

The bandits chuckled. One of them—a brute with an axe resting on his shoulder—cracked his knuckles. “See, here’s the thing,” he said. “Word travels fast. Someone’s moving a whole lot of gold through the back roads. Now, I don’t see any gold, but I do see a very, very heavy wagon.”

I gritted my teeth. Somewhere along the way, someone must have talked. Or maybe a sharp-eyed scout had spotted the way the horses strained, the way the wagon sagged under its weight.

The leader of the bandits raised a hand. “So here’s how this goes. You let us take a look, and if it’s just iron, we’ll be on our way. If it’s something else…” His grin widened. “Well, then we’re going to have a very different conversation.”

Zapper shot me a glance. I could see the calculations running through his head—could we bluff, could we talk our way out, or was it time to fight?

I made the decision for him.

I drew my sword. “You want to see what’s in the wagon? Step closer, and I’ll spill your guts on the ground first.”

The tension snapped like a bowstring.

The scarred man’s grin twisted into a snarl. “Kill them.”

The bandits charged.

I met the first one head-on, my blade flashing in the firelight. The impact sent a jarring shock up my arm, but I held my ground, twisting to drive the edge into his side. He gasped, stumbled, and fell.

Zapper moved beside me, his hands crackling with magic. A flick of his wrist sent a pulse of force crashing into two attackers, sending them sprawling. But more were coming, their weapons gleaming, their eyes hungry.

I ducked a wild swing and countered, driving my knee into a bandit’s gut before knocking him aside. Another came from my left—too fast. I twisted, barely deflecting a blade that scraped along my gauntlet.

Zapper unleashed a bolt of lightning, illuminating the clearing for a brief, blinding moment. One of the bandits convulsed and collapsed, smoke rising from his form. But for every one we felled, more pressed forward.

We were outnumbered.

Then the ground trembled.

For a heartbeat, everyone—bandits included—froze.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the clearing, followed by the heavy crunch of something massive moving through the underbrush.

I barely had time to react before a monstrous form burst from the darkness—a towering, four-legged beast with glowing eyes and thick, stone-like skin.

The guardian golem.

The beavers’ protector had found us.

It roared, and the bandits panicked. Their courage shattered in an instant as the creature lunged, swiping a massive claw through their ranks. One man was flung like a ragdoll into a tree. Another barely managed to scramble away before the golem crushed the ground where he’d stood.

The leader turned to flee, but before he could vanish into the forest, Zapper flicked his fingers. A tendril of golden energy lashed out, wrapping around the man’s ankle and yanking him off his feet. He hit the dirt with a pained grunt.

I stepped over him, pressing the tip of my sword to his throat. “Iron,” I said coldly, “isn’t worth robbing. Remember that.”

The bandits that could still move didn’t wait for permission—they ran, vanishing into the trees as fast as their legs could carry them.

The golem rumbled low in its throat, watching them go. Then, with a final snort, it turned and lumbered back into the darkness.

Silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Zapper exhaled, rubbing his temples. “That was close.”

I nudged the scarred leader with my boot. “What do we do with him?”

Zapper considered. Then, with a shrug, he pulled a length of rope from the wagon and tossed it to me. “Tie him up. Let’s see if he’s got anything useful to say before we leave him for the next travelers to deal with.”

I smirked. “I like the way you think.”

As I bound the bandit’s hands, I glanced at the wagon. The illusion still held.

But now, we weren’t just carrying gold.

We were carrying a secret that someone had already tried to kill for.

And I had no doubt—it wouldn’t be the last time.

The morning sun casts long shadows over the dirt road as Chance nears the final leg of his journey. The countryside has been peaceful—until now.

A gust of wind sweeps across the path, and the horses whinny in terror. A massive shape descends from the sky, scales glinting like polished steel in the light. The ground trembles as the dragon lands, wings folding neatly against its sides. Its eyes, gleaming pools of molten gold, fix on Chance and the wagon.

“What do we have here?” the dragon rumbles, its voice deep and smooth, carrying the weight of ages.

Its gaze flicks from the iron-laden wagon to Chance himself, then lingers. There’s no immediate hostility, but a sense of power hums in the air, pressing down like an approaching storm.

Zapper created an image of a much lager dragon Gold Dare’s. The smaller dragon freezes, its wings half-spread, as its eyes dart between the towering illusion and the wagon. At the mention of Gold Dare, it exhales sharply, nostrils flaring.

“Gold Dare?” the dragon mutters, its voice laced with caution. It takes a slow step back, tail twitching. “I wasn’t aware he had business on this road…”

The illusion of Gold Dare shifts, its great golden eyes locking onto the smaller dragon with a fearsome intensity. Zapper, controlling the illusion, makes it snarl just enough to send a ripple of fear through the creature.

“By all means, take his gold,” Zapper taunts through the illusion, “if you are willing to pay the price.”

The smaller dragon swallows hard, then gives a forced chuckle. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I have no quarrel with Gold Dare.” It slowly flaps its wings, preparing to take off. “Just… passing through.”

With one last glance at the illusion, the dragon takes to the sky, vanishing into the clouds.

The road ahead is clear once more. Zapper grins, the illusion shimmering and fading.

“I can’t believe that worked!” he says. “Now let’s get moving before someone actually sends Gold Dare a message.”

At the speed of rampaging snails we plodded on through the day eyeing every squirrel and rabbit as if they might be bandits in disguise. Well after dark we got to the cave and zappers stone golems wordlessly started unloading the wagon soon the gold ore bins were brimming full of coins. The factory soon turned the small fortune in gold coins into feelers for the ant army.

At the first station, an ant’s body took shape, three gleaming gems embedded in its carapace. Next, ruby-red eyes and golden feelers were mounted with careful precision. At the following station, mithral legs and deadly pincers were affixed, their edges catching the dim light. Finally, a razor-sharp stinger was set in place, completing the creature’s design. With a final surge of magic, the finished ant was enchanted and sent to join the colony. It took about twenty minutes to make an ant.

With the bins full the factory would run for days three an hour, seventy-two a day, five hundred and four a week, knowing production would continue until the gold feelers ran dry.

To pass the time, Zapper and I played backgammon, the steady clatter of dice mixing with the rhythmic hum of the machines. Outside, the night stretched on, but in the factory, the work never stopped.