by Drew Hayes
Elora turned the option around in her mind for a while before ultimately shaking her head. “No, it seems like you made the deal in good faith, and I didn’t work details into the contract. Besides, I’ve been in this business long enough to know that while minor magic is profitable, the real stuff is something anyone with sense steers clear of.”
“Which probably explains why the mad king was so eager to get his hands on it,” Eric said. Although he meant it as a joke, neither he nor Elora laughed. Both of them were all too aware that once the blood debt between them was gone, she might very well succeed in handing him over to King Liadon. And if that happened, it was only a matter of time before the king got his hands on the Bridge.
* * *
Sylan sat in the modest room designed for clerks of the Hall of Adventurers to take their breaks in, eating a bowl of stew he’d brought from home. While the food and ale inside the Hall were both exceptional, they were also priced more for adventurers than the working folk. Sylan could have taken his lunch there if he so desired, daily even, for the Hall’s pay was far from paltry, but at the end of the week, he’d be taking home far less coin. And that was more indulgence than Sylan could afford. He didn’t intend to work this clerk job until he was too old or (more likely) some adventurer lost their temper and bashed his head in before the guards could arrive. No, he was saving every copper he made for his dream: formal training as an alchemist. Once he had that, Sylan would be able to go anywhere he desired, with nothing more than his wits and a few cooking tools, paying his way by selling potions and poultices along the road.
Lost in thoughts of his eventual life out roaming the kingdom—a not-uncommon occurrence that his fellow clerks could spot by the hazy, far-off look in his eyes—Sylan didn’t immediately notice the commotion filling their normally quiet break room. It wasn’t until someone bumped his chair, nearly sending the bowl of soup onto Sylan’s pants, that he finally snapped out of his daydream and saw all the other off-duty clerks jostling forward to surround one particular table. Although he wasn’t all that interested, Sylan still rose and edged over to see what the fuss was about. Years on the job told him that anything that got the clerks excited would lead to chaos among the adventurers, and forewarned was forearmed so far as Sylan was concerned.
After bustling through the crowd, Sylan finally got far enough to see the table, or rather the massive scroll that was laid out upon it. With only a glance, Sylan knew what it was, though he’d only ever heard rumors of it before. As far as he knew, none of these scrolls had been handed down in over ten years.
“A Grand Quest,” Sylan muttered, fighting back attempts by others to try and push him away so they could see the scroll.
“That it is,” agreed Delsup. The gnome was nearby, having stolen a chair to get high enough so he could see over the table. Though he’d have been easy to push aside, no one was quite so cruel as to knock down an old gnomish man just so they could get a sneak peek at something interesting. “Been a long while since we had one of those. This’ll send the adventurers off like firing an arrow into a nest of wasps.”
“How long until it starts?” This voice came from the back of the group, and the question was echoed several more times amidst those who couldn’t see.
“One month,” came the response, from someone nearer to the front than Sylan and Delsup, someone who could apparently make out the fine print.
“Back off, all of you!” There was no wondering who’d given this order; Thurm, their immediate supervisor, had a distinct, deep voice that was impossible to mistake, even among his fellow dwarves. Squat and dense, like all of his people, Thurm also wore a long dark beard that provided an interesting contrast to the plate-sized bald spot atop his head. He lurched forward, easily pushing the crowd away, and picked up the scroll. “We’ll have this on display in the official area of the Hall before the day is done. You’re all welcome to read it then, though ye needn’t bother. The bosses say there’ll be a meeting tonight to brief you all on the details. We’re going to get a lot of adventurers coming in for this, so everyone be at your best.”
With that order given and the scroll neatly rolled up, Thurm shoved his way past the crowd and out of the break room. Sylan headed back to his stew while the rest of the clerks huddled into small groups and eagerly chatted about the new development. He paused to offer a hand to Delsup. The gnome gratefully accepted, following Sylan back to his table and taking a seat before pulling out a small sack of his own. So far as the clerks knew, Delsup had been bringing in the same lunch every day since he’d been hired: a cold turkey leg and some vegetables from his garden. It wasn’t much, but a creature his size didn’t require a lot to stay nourished.
“Did you see what the quest was?” Sylan asked as they both tucked in to their meals.
Delsup shook his head as he peeled the turkey meat away from the bone. “Too far back to make out the details, but every Grand Quest I’ve witnessed is hard, bordering on impossible. That’s why they bring in so many, you know, because most of them will fail or die, though they try to stem the latter through tokens.”
“Tokens?” Sylan had never heard of such a thing in his time working at the Hall.
“Never mind, they’ll explain it tonight,” Delsup said. “Better than I could. Just suffice it to say that while we usually let adventurers take any quest, steering them as best we can, the Grand Quest is different. Only the truly gifted and exceptional will be allowed to undertake it.”
“If it’s as hard as you say, I’d be surprised if that many even wanted to,” Sylan pointed out.
“Adventurers are strange creatures, always playing fast and loose with their lives. Trust me, if we let them, every single sword-wielder and spell-slinger from here to Thatchshire would be lined up to take on the Grand Quest,” Delsup said. “Great as the risk always is, the reward is just as sweet, you see. And gold can do funny things to a mind.”
“Will there be that much?” Sylan asked.
Delsup took a bite of his turkey and swallowed, using a bit more effort than a younger gnome might have required. “Sometimes it’s all gold; sometimes its gold and items of incredible power; sometimes it’s even a rare artifact. The exact reward changes, but it’s always enough to sway the minds of even rational people. Every time there’s a Grand Quest, the reward is so great that we even get a few regular folks trying to sign on, not just adventurers. People who actually care about their lives get drawn in. That’s the sort of reward I’m talking about. And, to be honest, those people, more than the adventurers, are why we don’t let just anyone sign on for it.”
“It doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world to let people take a shot at their dreams,” Sylan commented.
“And maybe it wouldn’t be, if the cost of failing to attain them wasn’t so high. Grand Quests come with high body counts, Sylan. That too is without fail. Be glad you and I are on our side of the quest counter. It may not be glamorous, but when this is all said and done, at least the two of us will still be drawing breath.”
Chapter 14
While no one liked it, pragmatism demanded that the party show Elora a little trust. After retrieving her horse—a beautiful black mare that somehow blended in with the surrounding woods—they realized that they couldn’t have her under constant guard as they rode and still keep watch for beasts and bandits. So, rather than keep her bound and useless, they stuck her in the middle of the group while they rode, with one person always directly next to her, ready to call out in the event she did anything suspicious. Even if she was able to silence that person, the two behind would see her act and be ready, while the two in front worried themselves about watching the road. It was as fair and functional a system as they could devise, and Elora seemed unbothered by it. In fact, if anything, she was proving to be downright chatty.
“What’s the deal with the axe?” Elora asked Gabrielle, no more than a few moments after the barbarian traded places with Grumph to do her time at Elora’s side.
“It kills things I don’t like.” Gabrielle felt proud of herself for not going so far as to point out that Elora was one such thing, allowing the implication to remain unsaid. She was, ostensibly at least, trying to be diplomatic.
“Obviously, but I saw you cutting through golems in that orchard. Now, I’ve ridden with more than one barbarian in my day, and I’ve seen them hit with the fury of a wronged god. That was something totally different. It seemed like more than just strength, so I’m guessing it has some sort of powerful enchantment,” Elora said. “Plus—and bear with me here, because this is hard to understand if you’re not an elf—it’s giving off some dark waves.”
“Dark waves?” Thistle perked up from his position in the back.
“Perk of being an elf—we’re a bit more in tune with magic than most of you, and sometimes that lets us feel the power radiating from items. It’s usually only ones that are either very old or very strong, though, which is why I was curious about the axe,” Elora explained.
“It’s technically cursed,” Gabrielle told her. “And I don’t know the exact details of how it works. I just know that when I need power, it gives it to me.”
“At a cost, I’m sure.” Elora waited for Gabrielle to elaborate, but the barbarian had fallen silent on the subject. It didn’t escape Elora’s notice, however, that Thistle’s eyes would frequently return to the axe, lingering for longer than he’d possibly need to learn the shape of it. While she could have pressed the issue, she instead chose to let it drop. She’d be stuck with these people for a while yet, unless Tristan saw fit to deliver her freedom in the form of some unanticipated opportunity, and it would be easier to get along if she avoided any more bad blood than was already there.
Besides which, Gabrielle wasn’t a real interest to Elora. She was just a way to pass the time. Cursed objects happened; Elora had hand-delivered more than a few to people who needed to be dealt with but whose deaths couldn’t be connected to the shadows. No, Gabrielle only rated slightly higher than Timuscor, so far as Elora was concerned, though the knight with the pig was curious. More fascinating still were the half-orc wizard and the gnome paladin, both of whom would draw the eye of anyone due to their strange occupations.
But none of them intrigued Elora more than Eric. So simple, so unassuming, and yet with such depth of potential. He knew nothing of poisons or rogue techniques, and yet he’d already been gifted with the power to sense attention. He wielded a short sword, of all things, but had succeeded in using it and his natural dexterity to dance along the root monster’s leg, attacking all the while. More than anything, though, he had the right-shaped mind for the job, the kind that worked in crooked angles and strange loops, even if he didn’t realize it. With the right guidance and proper molding, he could be a shadow as deep and dark as a still lake on a moonless night. Rationally, she understood that wasn’t really an option; even if his head weren’t worth a tremendous amount of gold, he was dedicated to his friends. And from what she’d picked up, they were planning to leave as soon as they had enough gold to get to Baltmur.
Still, she watched, unable to stop herself from planning and wondering about all the fascinating possibilities. It was, after all, a boring ride, or at least that’s how she justified it to herself. There was nothing wrong with idle thoughts to pass the time.
* * *
“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” Tim said, slumped against his chair in relief. It had been touch-and-go for a few moments; if Timanuel hadn’t been fighting hip-deep in water with restorative properties, that might very well have been the end of the paladin.
“‘We,’ nothing. Bert pulled that off,” Cheri corrected. “I can’t believe you took that blast head-on just to save me.”
“Wimberly doesn’t trust easily, but once she does, she’ll do anything to keep that person safe.” Bert smiled, looking down at his own character sheet, where a few meager health points remained. “And I think I’m sort of fond of Chalara, too. I’d hate to see her get replaced.”
“Whoa now, I might bring in a new character, but there’s no replacement for Chalara,” Cheri replied.
“It was an impressive, risky maneuver. And to be honest, I wasn’t even sure it would work. This is a spring, after all, and even magically augmented fire can only do so much. I guess the dice were just on your side.” Russell made a note next to the usual one to give Alexis extra experience points for the role-playing, this time indicating that it was Bert who deserved a bonus. It couldn’t have been easy for him to go against his own nature and embrace Wimberly’s desires, especially in such a critical moment, and that was the sort of playing he liked to reward.
On the game board, the four moss tokens remained, though the rest of the creatures had been swept away, burned to ash by the explosion and subsequent rampaging fire Wimberly had set off. It was a wild burn, impossible to control, and had hit the characters as much as the plants. They had, thankfully, used their actions to activate items, potions, or spells which gave them some resistance to the fire, but even with that, they’d been in real peril more than once. It was Gelthorn’s smart thinking, leaping into the spring to take cover under the water while the fire burned out, that had kept them alive as the animated vegetation turned to ash.
“I take out the damn viewing stone to get a good picture of this scenery,” Cheri declared.
Russell was already flipping through the module to check for their reward. Since the party was being paid for how much of the plant life they destroyed, proven by the magical viewing stone the quest clerk had provided, wiping out everything near the spring was going to get them maximum payment. They wouldn’t actually be able to collect until they were back in the capital, but he didn’t see the harm in giving them some idea of what was coming. It had been a hell of a fight, and they deserved some good news for their efforts.
He finally found the page with the quest reward table and moved his eyes down to the very bottom. A considerable sum was waiting there—more than enough to compensate the party for their trouble. There was also a page number linking to the quests that would be available to them for such a stellar completion, as well as a small asterisk that directed him to the bottom of the page. Russell read the footnote, which was nothing more than a few words and a page number. Quickly flipping to it, Russell’s eyes went wide as he took in the large font announcing their achievement.
“Okay everyone, I think you all deserve to know about how much gold this is going to net you, but I’d advise you not to plan how you’ll spend it just yet,” Russell said. “I won’t give anything away, except to say that your plans might change once you get back to the capital.”
* * *
A late afternoon sun hung in the air as they made their way back down Camnarael’s central road toward the Hall of Adventurers. It had been a tense journey, with no one quite able to relax, even as they slept, since Elora was around. They were all looking forward to a good meal and a soft bed thanks to their reward money for the berries, so much so that it wasn’t until they were nearly in sight of the Hall that they noticed the buzz of excitement zipping through the air.
“Is there some sort of festival?” Thistle asked, as it was his turn to ride next to Elora.
“Next one isn’t for some time yet,” she replied, scanning the faces of the townsfolk as they passed. “But obviously there’s something going on. Perhaps the royal family is planning a visit, or some monster broke through the guards and stirred up a little excitement.”
“Does that happen often?” Thistle couldn’t imagine a creature easily making it by all the guards they’d seen, both on the road and in the city, but he knew there were some that could manage it. Had one of those arrived in the capital, however, he suspected they’d have been met with blood and corpses rather than excited chatter.
“Not very,” Elora said. “Even if some monster does manage to get into town, we have an entire hall filled to the brim with adventurers. I’m sure you can imagine how that situation plays out.”
&n
bsp; “Aye, they do love a good fight.” The words were out of his mouth before Thistle realized he’d referred to adventurers as “they” instead of “we.” There was nothing to be done for it; trying to backpedal or explain would only draw more attention to the slip. All he could do was hope she took it for a strange choice of words and dug no further.
“I think I might know what the ruckus is about,” Eric called back from the front of the group. As he had the best eyes and a talent for spotting trouble, he’d done more time in the lead than anyone else. It was a choice of necessity as well as intuition. Thistle wasn’t sure why, but he was almost certain Elora had taken an interest in their rogue, which was more than enough reason to keep her away from him.
“It seems there is a crowd at the Hall,” Timuscor said from alongside Eric.
“Those mostly look like townspeople, not adventurers. I’m guessing the source of the commotion is that.” Eric raised his hand, pointing to a strip of gold Thistle could only barely make out from this far off. Elora, on the other hand, let out a small gasp and allowed her eyes to go momentarily wide.
“What the hell is that?” Gabrielle asked. “Some sort of banner?”
“A golden banner hung across the Hall of Adventurers,” Elora said, her voice only a few degrees above a whisper. She looked around, waiting for a reaction, only to be greeted with confused stares. “Don’t any of you know what this means?”
“I think I can almost make out the words,” Eric said.
“Let me save you the trouble: when the Hall of Adventurers has a golden banner hung up at the front, it’s a symbol of one thing and one thing only. The banner means that a Grand Quest has been handed down.”
