A Story Less told (The Legend of Greg) Book 1 of 2

Chapter 7: What Dwells Below

Greg pondered his choices, all of them were bad. Turning back meant another afternoon of cold and walking, moving forward meant traversing another unknown stretch of bridge treachery over what looked like an intentionally hellish river of orange magma. The flow was quite lethargic, barely moving, but at least a hundred yards across, and the right side seemed to drop off of some ledge into the fiery unknown.

"Nothing about this is natural." Grumbled Muradin.

"You complain when it's cold, you complain when it warms up, you bitch about how endless and boring the walk is and you bitch when it gets interesting." Greg muttered back.

"I'm very glad I encouraged Bacon to stay." said a very overwhelmed Miranda.

"It would be an extra crispy side of Bacon." Greg joked, receiving no laughs. The bridge had a severe arc to it, almost appearing to drop off into the molten horizon. They reluctantly staggered on, following Greg into what may have literally been the mouth of hell. Muradin and Miranda slowly reduced clothing to compensate for the heat until it was borderline awkward. As they crested the top and looked down, they realized there was a slight problem.

"Hmm...that's disappointing." said a calmly irked Greg.

"Disappointing?" Muradin barked, exaggerating his question to make Greg feel targeted. "If this is disappointing, what catastrophe would it need to be to consider it infuriating?!" he added loudly.

"Well, it requires a little ingenuity, I admit." he said scratching his beard.

"We walked a hundred miles through frozen emptiness and then through a scorching chamber of death and all for a dead-end!" he hollered.

"It's not a dead-end, it's a structural malfunction...a bit of a hazard or obstacle." he rationalized, not wanting to turn back without answers.

"It's a ten dwarf long section of the bridge submerged in molten rock! Not only does that mean this bridge is unstable and prone to caving in...but we cant cross it to find out what lies beyond!" he said flailing angrily and throwing loose pebbles at the river of doom.

"It's not that far." Greg shrugged.

"What length of swimming in magma would you consider too far?" Muradin asked, bottling his anger.

"I mean...it's a pretty wide mark to aim for. I'm not the most accurate thrower in the kingdoms, but I'm descent, and any idiot could hit a 2 meter wide bridge."

"There is no way in this Earth that you are throwing me across that. The rock would be searing hot several meters up from the magma even if you did.

"That's a good point. How high would you have to be in order to avoid injury?" he asked Miranda. They both looked concerned at Greg's question.

"If we survive this, I am considering this debt paid!" Muradin barked angrily as he tugged on the rope to ensure it was snugly tied around the torch-post on his end. Greg held the other end up with one hand as he neared the submerged section. He guessed the rail would be about the depth of his knees in the center and with his robe and gear bundled up in his other hand, he began lowering his foot into the rock.

Miranda stood frozen, one eye slowly blinking as she debated on weather or not to look away.

"Must you display yourself in front of the lady?" Muradin scolded.

"Not forcing anyone to look. You didn't offer any magic robes that can withstand molten rock, so I assumed you didn't have that either." he said wading through, to the knees-depth with no clothing on, holding the rope high. Miranda began to say something, stopping to change her mind.