by Drew Hayes
Grumph said nothing to that. Instead, he raised a thick, hairy finger and pointed farther down the road. As everyone followed his direction, they saw what he’d noticed amidst the bustle before them—a massive building with dozens of horses tied up nearby and people in armor mingling about in front of the entrance. High overhead, plastered large enough for all to see, was the crest of Alcatham above a pair of crossed swords.
“Aye, old friend, we are here indeed. Everyone, welcome to Alcatham’s Hall of Adventurers.”
* * *
The elf was unassuming, which was hardly an impressive feat since she was paid to be so. Visible, but unseen; audible, but unheard, that was her credo. While some tried to hide themselves entirely, she’d always found that to be too risky. Be caught hiding and all attention was on you. Be seen harmlessly existing, and people’s interest would fade away as quickly as it had come. True, she employed a few magical means to assist in this endeavor, but the bulk of it by far came from training and practice. It was that experience which allowed her to complete the second, perhaps more crucial aspect of her job: to watch carefully without appearing to look.
Honestly, she wasn’t expecting much. She was only sitting at the outdoor restaurant, sipping carefully from a mug of ale, because her turn had come up in the rotation. It was a bit galling, really, to be handed down these tasks that should rightfully be forced upon the newer shadows. However, the organization put a large emphasis on fairness—a necessity, given how their people reacted to a perceived slight—which meant that, for long-term jobs like this, even the higher ups had to take a turn.
Really, though, what were the odds they’d spot some refugees from Solium marching directly down the capital’s center road? It was ludicrous; King Liadon was getting madder by the day. Still, the amount of gold he was offering was too good to ignore, so every dusk and dawn, a fresh shadow was dispatched to keep watch on the Hall of Adventurers. All over Alcatham, and likely the other nearby kingdoms as well, others were doing the same. Some rewards were hefty enough to spend time on, even if one knew they were a long shot.
It was only because of her professionalism that the elf was alert enough to notice the group making their way through the streets. According to the information in King Liadon’s offer, he was searching for a woman in red armor, a gnome in full plate, a half-orc with a spell book, and a human with a short sword. She could only imagine how many corpses he’d reanimated just to get that information, because anyone with that sort of bounty on their head was bound not to have left any real witnesses. The party trekking along didn’t quite fit the bill of what had been described—for one thing, the woman was wearing robes from the Guild of Illustrious Mages, and the gnome certainly didn’t look like he could handle a full suit of plated armor. Clothes could be changed, however, and she knew as well as anyone that a few practiced alterations were all it took to slip by unremembered.
Taking a keen eye, she noted that the group almost fit the bill. Everything lined up in terms of race and sex, save for the extra human male in thick armor and the boar strapped into some sort of side-carry contraption on his horse. That was... odd, but it was a long road from Solium’s border to Camnarael—plenty of time to pick up an eccentric knight. Still, adventurers often came in motley groups, and this was hardly the first pairing to fit the description in the weeks her organization had been watching. Chances were strong they were nothing more than yet another false lead; the real party was probably dead or halfway across the sea by now.
Despite knowing all that, the elf still polished off her drink and carefully rose to her feet, being sure not to jostle anyone or cause a disturbance. It was her turn to keep watch, and she needed to do it properly, as an example to the paler shadows if nothing else. Besides, a false lead at least held the potential to be interesting, and she would happily take that chance over half a day more of sitting around watching the road.
Not to mention the mead in the Hall of Adventurers was far better than what this restaurant served.
* * *
“Bustling” was the word Eric might have used to describe the inside of the Hall of Adventurers, but only because he didn’t know adequate synonyms to properly encompass the chaos they encountered upon stepping through the door. People were scattered all about, dozens of men and women in armor, robes, cloaks, and outfits Eric had never laid eyes on before. Most, if not all, of them had weapons visible: not necessarily displayed as threats, but always within easy reach. Eric rested his hand on his own short sword, ensuring he could manage a clean pull if the need arose.
Fortunately, the mood in the hall didn’t seem to be an aggressive one. If anything, people were suffering from an abundance of cheer. This was probably helped in no small part by the fact that the entire left half of the building seemed to be a massive tavern. Long wooden tables and benches ran the length of the space, barely filled even by the multitude of adventurers quenching their thirst. Servers ran up and down the spaces between tables, taking seemingly endless orders for tankards of ale along with the occasional plate of food. One rogue pie’s odor made its way across the room and Eric’s stomach tightened, remembering how long it had been since their feasts in Briarwillow.
The right side of the building, where Grumph and Thistle were steadily steering them, was filled with small counters not unlike a shop, staffed with people wearing the same Alcatham crest and swords they’d seen outside the hall. A long line of adventurers wove through the area, waiting for the next counter to free up. The concept seemed strange at first, but after a few moments in the rapidly-moving line, Eric could see why they’d adopted such a system. Some of the clerks were faster than others at whatever was happening, meaning that if they’d had their own lines, each would move at different paces. Seeing others fly by while staying stuck was bound to aggravate some tempers, and this took such predicaments out of the equation. It was a smart precaution, one they’d no doubt come up with through trial and error.
As they waited patiently, Eric’s keen eyes took note of a pair of staircases near the back of the room. One was open, and several people were going up and down as they pleased. The other, however, was flanked by a large man in exceptional armor and a half-elf woman wearing robes similar to what Grumph had been given, only far more ornate. Though they were approached by the occasional adventurer, the duo almost always shook their heads. The one exception was a woman in armor as green as the forest, who they wordlessly let pass. Working his way forward, Eric leaned down so he could whisper to the only member of their group that might shed light on the curiosity.
“What’s the deal with the guarded staircase?”
“Ah, I’d nearly forgotten about the ‘elite’ section.” Thistle didn’t bother to affect Eric’s hushed tone. Evidently this wasn’t a secret, or at least not enough of one to bother whispering about. “The first set of stairs leads to the inn where adventurers can purchase lodging—an option we may very well want to consider, as housing this deep in the capital is not cheap, and this place is well-defended. The second stairs, however, lead to a section of the building only accessible to adventurers deemed as elite. They have a private dining, sleeping, and even quest assignment quarters, so they aren’t forced to wait with the rest of us rabble.”
“Elite adventurers, huh? Who gets to arbitrarily decide what makes one of us better than the others?”
“The Hall’s oversight committee,” Thistle replied. “Though it is far from arbitrary. To be offered elite status, one must complete quests of exceptional difficulty, the sort of accomplishments that turn to legend. In all the times we were here before, Grumph and I only saw a single adventurer offered consideration. And he’d killed a dragon singlehandedly. An evil one, of course.”
Whatever smart remark had been waiting on Eric’s tongue quickly died away at Thistle’s explanation. He’d never even seen a dragon nor heard of someone who had, not even among the steady stream of adventurers who’d made their way through Maplebark. According to legend, they were impossibl
y strong creatures of magic, fire, and claw. Few had stories to tell of them because the good ones kept their distance and the evil ones left almost no survivors.
“Wow. That is... elite,” Eric said at last.
“It wasn’t an ancient dragon, but yes, the task was still quite impressive, which is why the amazing accomplishment was seen as such a marvel and a rarity. But I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about the people who gather here. For the most part, they are like us, fighting hard to make a living in this world. The ones who walk those steps are different.” Thistle nodded to the staircase, where a man in pitch-black robes was descending. “They exist in a world all their own. Their concerns are not ours. Whatever grand tasks they might be planning or dealing with, we have to concern ourselves with the mundane, with surviving one day at a time.”
As Thistle spoke, the line moved again, and suddenly they were at the front, waiting to be waved over by the next clerk that finished.
“Now,” Thistle said, keeping his eyes peeled for the first sign of movement. “Let us see what this next task demands.”
Chapter 5
In practically no time, a man with long brown hair waved them over to his counter. Thistle didn’t waste a moment in leading the group forward. None could argue with his promptness, as few things spurred one on like a whole queue of impatient adventurers at one’s back, ready and waiting for an excuse to cause trouble.
Despite dealing with exactly that sort of folk all day, the clerk’s smile was cheerful as the party approached him. There was a small stool that Thistle climbed without a word; it was no doubt put there specifically for gnomes who needed to see over the counter. Eric slipped a few paces back as Grumph moved forward, leaving Gabrielle and Timuscor to hold their positions at the rear. Though no one said it, everyone implicitly agreed that it was best to let the more experienced party members do the talking. However, they did huddle as close as they could without interfering, each of them curious to see how this Hall of Adventurers functioned.
“Good afternoon,” the clerk greeted. “My name is Sylan. Are you here to undertake or complete a quest for the kingdom?”
“Have to start with undertaking, as we’ve only just arrived in town,” Thistle replied, matching the clerk’s cheer with a happy tone of his own.
“Then let me be the first to officially welcome you to Camnarael. Tell me, have you handled quests from the Hall of Adventurers before?”
“Not in any official capacity, no.” Thistle paused for a minute, trying to think of how to frame the previous situation that had led him to these halls. “The last time I was here, I was something of a squire; hadn’t yet graduated to adventuring of my own.”
“I understand; we get adventurers who are new to the Hall every week.” Unfazed, the clerk reached beneath his counter and produced a thick scroll with arcane symbols along the edge. Before any of the group got more than a cursory look, he’d unwound the first section atop the counter, displaying dozens of small paragraphs in different handwriting.
“Though any adventurer is permitted to accept almost every quest, we do urge you to try and work within the realm of what you can handle,” the clerk explained. “That way the kingdom sees these problems dealt with more quickly and fewer lives are lost in the process. For those who haven’t taken work from the Hall before, we keep a log of simple, but necessary, tasks that need regular attention. How much trouble one of these gives you will provide a good idea of what you can handle and will aid us in suggesting future quests that best suit your party.”
“Aye, the quests of trial. I’d nearly forgotten about those.” Thistle leaned in, studying the scroll carefully and running his miniature hands along every line written across it. “Bad news, old friend,” he said to Grumph. “Looks as though the mandrake issue sorted itself out, so we can’t do the same one as before.”
“There were some issues with a frost ogre and his chimeras some years back. Lots of rebuilding on the outskirts, but the hard freeze seems to have solved the mandrake issue for good.” The clerk seemed impressively unbothered by the group taking some time while others completed quick exchanges at the other tellers. There was no sense of rushing as Thistle scoured the document, only more cheerful grinning and the occasional tidbit of explanation.
“Gather round,” Thistle requested at last, motioning for the others to lean in even closer. “From what I can see on here, we’ve got three options well-suited to our team’s talents. To the south, near where we came from, there have been some increased wolf attacks. Even more than we saw. They’re looking for adventurers to thin the herds a bit, with a bonus if we can kill any pack leaders. Normally, I’d say that’s a bit too risky at the outset; however, we did get a lot of practice killing those wolves on the trip in.”
“It’s a very popular quest among those who have been traveling,” the clerk told them.
“If we don’t like that plan, there’s an enchanted spring to the east that needs regular maintenance. Seems magic seeps into the nearby plant life, which then grows too fast and can choke the spring if it’s not beaten back. We’re also allowed to take all the water we like, as it has some minor magical properties,” Thistle added.
“Not the biggest fan of gardening, but at least it would be less bloody than the wolves,” Gabrielle said.
Eric gave a small shrug. “I kind of like gardening.”
“Well then, you’ll likely enjoy this last one too,” Thistle told him. “There’s an enchanted orchard of ildenberries to the north, and they’re in season. We get paid per berry we pick and are allowed to keep as many as we can carry.”
“Sounds way too easy,” Eric said.
“Which is why I was getting to the second part. Evidently, this orchard is protected by mystical guardians. No indication of what they are here on the notice, only warnings that they can be real annoyances and are dangerous if enough gather together. Seeing as there’s no requirement to kill them, though, this appears to be the most peaceful option set before us.”
“That’s only three out of way more.” Gabrielle leaned a bit more over, nearly sending Thistle tumbling from his stool by accident. “What about all these others?”
“They require skill sets that we don’t possess,” Thistle replied. “For example: many are best handled at a distance, and while daggers and spells can do much, they are no substitute for a proper bow. And as we don’t have anyone who has yet mastered the art of reading arcane symbols, I had to eliminate any quests that required too much dealing with old magic. I’m happy to break it down for you one by one later on, but at the moment, I thought it best to focus on choosing our task and freeing up Sylan for the rest of the groups in line.”
“Right. Sorry about that.” Gabrielle stood up straight, allowing Thistle to regain secure footing once again.
“Nothing to be sorry for. The desire to learn and know more is a natural, healthy one,” he assured her. “But for now, we should focus on which quest to undertake. It’s our first chance to make some coin in a long while, and I’d suggest we choose carefully.”
The group huddled closely together under the watchful eyes of Sylan the clerk, as well as another set in the room’s corner that they didn’t notice, and hurriedly proceeded to discuss which path they should take. There were some quick words spoken, and one almost-raised voice, but ultimately they settled on an option.
“Sylan,” Thistle declared, turning back to the clerk. “Please give us the information on the orchard. It seems we’re going ildenberry picking.”
* * *
The elf wasn’t close enough to hear which quest her quarry undertook. Getting close to them on the open floor before the counters would have been difficult, but doable, for one of her skill level. However, there was no need to take unnecessary risks, not when more reliable methods could be employed.
Technically speaking, the shadows and the Hall of Adventurers had no official arrangement, due in large part to the fact that the shadows didn’t exist, as far as the kingdom
was concerned. Through the years, though, it had become standard practice to keep in mind which clerks could be convinced to part with information through the exchange of coin. By the time her prey had wandered over to the bar area, seating themselves and ordering a round of meat pies, the elf had traded two gold to learn that they had undertaken the task of collecting ildenberries.
Simple as it had been to acquire, that tidbit of knowledge presented her with a serious conundrum. Though few travelers knew it, that particular ildenberry orchard was easily among the deadliest destinations of the trial quests. True, seasoned adventurers would be able to handle it without issue, but judging from their scant armor and road-worn weapons, she couldn’t imagine this group had much experience under their belt. If they were just random adventurers, then it was a non-issue: just a few more corpses to act as mulch for the orchard. However, if these were the people King Liadon was looking for, then their untimely death could represent a serious loss of income. The missive had been quite clear: they were to take as many alive as possible, with at least two still capable of talking at minimum. Whatever they’d done, the king very clearly wanted to be the one to make them suffer for it.
Of course, the odds were still good that these people weren’t the right targets at all. She was just playing a hunch, following them around on the off chance that it was a lucky break. Trailing them into the Hall was one thing, but anything beyond this would require more commitment. The most obvious option was to slip a little potion into their ale and have them carried off to a ramshackle safe house for interrogation. It was tempting, the main drawback being that if she was incorrect, it might stir up the wrong kind of trouble. The shadows lived in the capital thanks to care and discretion; the first thing they were trained for was to never bring down more heat from the law than was strictly necessary. And adventurers, even ones as seemingly innocuous as these, could be stronger than they appeared.
