by Drew Hayes
“We seek no trouble; I’ve only come to pay my respects to Grumble. And my friend here wished to learn about he who watches over the minions,” Thistle said quickly.
“He doesn’t look the type to serve Grumble. Are you sure he didn’t come for Longinus or Adamus?” the half-orc asked.
Thistle began to reply, but Timuscor beat him to it.
“While they are both kind, benevolent gods, I find that I am more inclined to learn of one who embraces the small and weak, rather than the mighty and powerful. It is my dream, one day, to become a paladin, if I can ever find a god who is willing to accept the service I offer. From what Thistle has told me, Grumble might be the most likely one I could reach an agreement with.”
The half-orc let out a low snort and tightened his grip on the club. “You should have kept your lies simpler. Worshippers of Grumble who also have the makings of paladins are the stuff of myth and legend. What would make you think you could be among them?”
“I don’t know that I could be. All I can do is try my best to follow and learn from Thistle,” Timuscor replied.
“Enough!” The half-orc stepped forward, and Thistle saw Timuscor’s hand twitch toward his sword. “You’ve been harassing us for weeks, coming here at night like cowards, but you have finally grown too bold. This ends now!”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Thistle warned, reaching over and gently putting a hand on Timuscor’s arm, keeping him from grabbing his blade.
“I won’t be—”
Whatever the half-orc would or wouldn’t be remained unknown. He got close enough to Thistle to swing only to be hurled across the room and into a wall, hitting with a surprisingly soft sound and sliding to the floor. His eyes were wide, though whether from shock or pain was hard to discern.
“When a paladin is in an active church of their god, a place soaked in prayer and worship, they are protected,” Thistle explained to Timuscor. “While paladins are generally expected to be out in the world, dealing with danger and fighting for their god, even we need to rest and recover at times. Thus, the gods decreed that their paladins would always be safe in places of worship, so long as they weren’t starting any fights there themselves.”
Walking over, Thistle took note of the change in the cowering kobolds. They’d gone from being terrified of Timuscor to staring at Thistle with unabashed awe. One tried to bow its head, but the other stopped him, which was the right thing to do. Paladins were vessels of divine will, not sources, and shouldn’t be treated as such. Thistle arrived at the half-orc and contemplated offering him a hand up. Since one tug would more than likely send the gnome’s small form toppling over, he opted to meet the priest’s eyes and offer a comforting smile instead.
“My name is Thistle, and I am a paladin of Grumble. I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to come here, but it seems you need some sort of aid. As this is one of his churches, it would be my pleasure to help you in whatever way I can.”
The half-orc stared at him, the shock slowly melting from his face. “My name is Ulkin. As a priest of Grumble, it is my pleasure to accept your offer.”
Thistle nodded as the half-orc slowly pulled himself back up to a standing position. “Well then, I’d say all that remains is for you to fill us in on the details.”
Chapter 19
Eric had never been more thankful for his years hauling around armor than he was as he sprinted along the narrow streets, chasing Elora as fast as his legs would carry him. If not for his countless days working under the armor’s weight, he would never have built up the stamina to keep in pursuit. Even as it was, he knew she was taking it easy on him. Elora managed to always stay just far enough ahead of him to leave a trace and nothing more. The flash of a cloak around a corner, a lingering scent in the air, one footstep echoing from down an alley. She was leaving him clues while she pushed his endurance, seeing how well he could think under stress. He’d never tested his body and senses together like this, which made it all the more exhilarating when he managed to keep following her.
The first few moments were the hardest; more than once Eric was sure he’d made a wrong move and was on the verge of backtracking when Elora would leave another clue. The longer the chase went on, winding them deeper into the residences of the capital, the more Eric began to function on what felt like instinct. It was as though his mind were working under the surface, only bothering his conscious thoughts with things that were of the utmost importance, such as which direction to go at a fork. As the chase continued, Eric’s confidence slowly grew. He was doing it; he was proving his skill as a rogue.
It was about then that Eric rounded a corner and nearly impaled his own eye on an outstretched dagger. Only his reflexes saved him. He jerked his upper body back so quickly that it threw him off balance, resulting in him falling in a tangle of limbs at Elora’s feet.
“Nice reaction,” she told him. Her hand opened and the dagger vanished, only a small glow on her wrist to mark its existence.
“What the hell was that?” Eric slowly pulled himself to his feet, body largely unharmed, but ego nursing quite a sizable bruise.
“That’s what happens when you chase someone so loudly,” Elora replied. “Your breath was ragged, your footsteps pounded on the ground, and honestly, I was able to mark your location the entire time you followed me.”
“I was supposed to be silent that whole time?” Despite his incredulous tone, as Eric spoke he realized that Elora had done just that: she’d been almost perfectly quiet while moving faster than he had.
“You don’t have to, as long as you don’t mind the person you’re pursuing setting a trap.”
“On that topic, how does almost stabbing me in the eye not break the whole ‘you can’t harm me’ part of the blood debt?” Eric asked.
“For one thing, I just stuck my dagger out. It’s on you if you run eye-first into it,” Elora said. “And besides, training is different than assault. If I don’t put a little fear and danger into this, you’ll never become a good rogue. I can certainly harm you, so long as it’s in the name of education.”
Eric, visions of the blade inches from his eye still far too fresh in his mind, would have liked very much to disagree with her, but wasn’t sure that he could. Training—this sort, anyway—was going to be dangerous. It had to be: the tasks he’d be taking on once it was over would be perilous, he’d seen that for himself already. If Elora couldn’t teach him to execute his skills when there were consequences on the line, then he’d be ill-prepared for any real rogue work.
“Just don’t get carried away, please. I think we can both agree that I’m better at any job with both eyes.”
“Relax; I had the situation mostly under control. And hey, let’s focus on the good part of this: you passed!” Elora threw out her arms and waved her hands in mock-celebration, rustling her heavy cloak with every motion.
For his part, Eric just looked around. They were in an alley like dozens of others he’d darted through in the past hour. He couldn’t discern anything special about it. In fact, he wasn’t even sure where they were; he’d been so intent on catching Elora that he’d lost all sense of direction.
“Finally realizing that you have no idea where you are, right? It’s okay, everyone zones out on their first chase. Part of why we do it this way. We’ve got hidey holes all over the city, but this is a special one for our rookies, so we prefer not to have any failures exposing the location out of spite.” Elora reached out to a wall that bore no distinct markings whatsoever—or at least none that Eric could spy—and gave a sharp, rhythmic rap on the stones. Soundlessly, they parted, slowly opening to reveal a pitch-black hole in the center of the wall.
“You first,” Elora said, motioning for him to continue.
“Don’t suppose you’d tell me why I need to lead?” Eric asked.
“Because there are traps inside, and if I’m in front, you’ll see how to avoid them. Don’t worry, though, almost nobody dies getting through the rookie entrance their first time.” Elora reac
hed out and patted him gently on the shoulder. “Assuming you’ve got real potential, of course, and not just luck.”
“I suppose we’ll find out.” With nothing else to say, Eric turned and vanished into the hole. Elora waited a few seconds, until she heard the familiar clang of metal jaws snapping shut and the peels of angry cursing from Eric. Angry was good; it meant he wasn’t injured, not seriously anyway. With one last glance to be sure no one saw them, Elora followed him into the entrance.
Moments later, the bricks moved again, sealing shut and removing any proof that the two rogues had ever been there at all.
* * *
There was no official outpost of the mages’ guild in Camnarael, which Grumph initially found perplexing. Why would such a vast organization not have an entrance in such a central hub? Then he did a little more digging, spoke to the right people at the bar, and learned that the kingdom had wanted a sizable tax to host even a modest doorway in the capital. Suddenly it all made sense. As much respect as Grumph had for his fellow mages and teacher, he hadn’t gotten the impression the guild would play well with others. Especially not when someone was trying to gouge them.
Still, it was inconvenient, as he would have very much liked to work in some proper training while he had the downtime. Dejy’s parting gift to Grumph—a magical spell book that had in-depth tutorials for each new spell—was an excellent study guide, but he’d never made more progress than when he learned from the archmage directly. Then again, with how busy Dejy kept himself, there was no guarantee that they’d have been able to train, though Grumph would have liked to see his friend all the same.
Aside from the disappointment, Grumph had a curious problem to deal with: he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Eric and Elora had left before daybreak to train, Thistle and Timuscor had gone to pay their respects at a temple of Grumble, Gabrielle was off on some task she’d refused to elaborate on, and none of them would be back until evening, when they were set to discuss the plan going forward. While the search for a guild outpost had occupied most of his morning, Grumph was facing an afternoon without any tasks. It had been a long time since he’d experienced true downtime, and the idea made him recoil somewhat. Even before their adventure began, he’d been a small business owner, and there was always work to be done in a tavern.
There was the option to study his spell book more, but he’d looked it over carefully before daybreak. While training with some new spells was certainly on the table, he wasn’t keen on using up all of his mana while in a strange town. If the day ended peacefully, he’d burn through it all in the evening; until then, Grumph preferred to have options if trouble decided to rear its head.
With no work to be done and no magic he could wisely practice, Grumph decided that perhaps his time was best served doing what wizards did best: research. So much of their journey had been forged in chaos, desperately trying to piece things together before their ignorance got them killed. There was bound to be an impressive library in a kingdom’s capital, one with books dating back far into the past.
Perhaps even one with rumors about a strange artifact, scattered into pieces, that changed the way those who held it saw the world. True, it was a long shot, but Grumph had an afternoon to kill. If nothing else, it would be a pleasant way to pass the time.
* * *
Once upon a life ago, Gabrielle would have thought five hundred gold an unmitigated fortune. In Maplebark, that sort of coin would have bought a home, as well as provided enough left over for a comfortable, if not excessive, lifestyle. That was Maplebark, though, a town she’d worked hard not to think about the farther away they got, a town where she’d had a life with two loving parents, albeit ones who didn’t recognize the fire in their daughter for what it really was. Here, in the heart of Alcatham’s capital, five hundred gold felt almost paltry, even if all she wanted to buy was information.
Once Eric’s thousand for lessons was deducted, the four other party members split the remaining two into five hundred apiece, supposedly meant to be squirreled away or used on necessities until they decided what to do while Eric trained. With such high costs barring them from the Grand Quest—or at least surviving it—every coin they had would count. Still, this was a cost Gabrielle could no longer put off, and she was unlikely to find a more probable place for answers than the capital of a kingdom.
Finding out who to talk with had been unexpectedly easy, even if the recommendation came from an untrustworthy source. As the person who had a room to herself and the one most likely to beat Elora in a close-quarters fight, the elf had been stuck in Gabrielle’s room the evening prior. It had mostly been a tense, silent night, save for when Gabrielle had worked up the nerve to ask where she might procure certain services. Elora had complied, though only in exchange for Gabrielle telling the tale of how she came by her axe. Gabrielle still wasn’t sure how she felt about the strange bargain, but it had seemed a small price for what she needed. Of course, finding out where to go was also the easiest part of her task.
Weaving through the town, once more hiding her armor under Grumph’s mage robes, Gabrielle made her way deep into the merchant district. Here there were shops, stalls, and even some vendors merely sitting on the street with their wares spread out before them. According to the rumors, one could buy anything they needed in Camnarael, from dragon scales to banshee tears, though not all of it was sold out in the open. Gabrielle ignored most of the people yelling out what they carried, along with boasts of how good the deals were. These would be, by and large, frauds or cheap baubles meant to impress those who didn’t know better. And while she couldn’t actually spot the difference between real enchantments and minor illusions, she was aware that real power wasn’t left so casually on display. Luckily, since she was dressed like a wizard, albeit an oddly-shaped one since the robes fell strangely along her armor, few vendors tried to call her over. They all knew it was a lost cause to try and unload such trinkets on a spell-caster.
Finally, after passing what seemed like countless smiths, potion shops, and curio stores, Gabrielle arrived at her destination. It looked much like the other peddler establishments she’d already walked by, with a wooden sign hanging in the front, featuring the carved illustration of a staff, a book, and an eye. Here, one could buy components for various spells or rituals, along with tools of the trade for mages. That was what the staff and the book meant, anyway. The eye, as Elora told it, meant that this shop also dabbled in information brokering. While they might not have the answers Gabrielle sought, they should be able to point her in the direction of someone who did. For a fee.
The door let out a rough groan as Gabrielle shoved it open. Sunlight poured into a largely empty shop. Along the walls were jars full of barely-visible ingredients—a small mercy, since what little could be made out caused Gabrielle’s stomach to turn. Carved staffs and wands hung along the walls, and a massive display of books and scrolls rested just behind the counter, presumably guarded over by the stuffed gnome leaned against the till. At least, Gabrielle took it to be stuffed until it whipped its head around and locked eyes with her.
“So early, the sun’s not even properly up. Come back once I’ve gotten some real sleep.”
Gabrielle wasn’t sure what shocked her more, that the small, raggedly-dressed figure on the counter had talked, or that its voice was distinctly female. Shaking off her surprise, Gabrielle leaned back and shut the door behind her, careful not to bang it with the thoroughly-wrapped parcel in her free hand.
“Sorry, but I’m on a bit of a time crunch. Perhaps we can get this done and you can nap after?”
She walked forward, noting that while the gnome’s eyes were once more drooping, they hadn’t closed entirely. Making her way up to the counter, Gabrielle rested her free hand atop the gnarled, poorly-crafted wood, being sure to keep it a healthy distance from the gnome. Any acquaintance of Elora’s was not someone Gabrielle intended to trust lightly.
“And if I say no, what then? Going to threaten to wreck up my sho
p? I know you won’t be turning a spell against me; doesn’t take much of a keen eye to spot the armor under those robes. There are those amongst the spell-casters who take such fraud seriously, you know.”
“I assure you, it’s out of necessity,” Gabrielle told her. “As is my business today.”
“Aye? Then come back when I’m done with my necessities,” the gnome replied. “Half a day should be fine.”
Elora had warned Gabrielle that, useful as they were, this vendor wasn’t someone who was easy to deal with. Anticipating such a situation, she’d given Gabrielle a certain phrase to use if the conversation seemed to stall. It was one Gabrielle had hoped to avoid employing, both because she wasn’t sure she liked the implications and because she didn’t want to accept any more help from the elf than was strictly necessary. This was more important than her pride, though. This was about safety: that of her friends as much as her own.
“How about a bet?” Gabrielle lifted her parcel (wrapped carefully in the cheap blankets and leather scraps she’d bought at the inn). “I’ve got something here that I think you’ll find interesting. If I’m right, you sell me the information I want for half the usual price. If I’m wrong, I’ll pay double.”
Those drooping eyes were more alert now, and the gnome actually raised her head to stare at the package. “A bet, you say? That does make sleep a bit less appealing. As to whether or not your little package is interesting... how exactly did you find this shop?”
“Someone told me about it,” Gabrielle replied. At the last moment, she remembered the other part, which Elora had been insistent she add. “Someone who works in the shadows.”
“One of those, eh? Well, that does make me all the more curious. They only tend to steer me the ones they want thoroughly fleeced or sincerely helped.” The gnome hopped down from the counter, only to stop after a couple of feet. Evidently, there was some sort of platform on the other side so she could deal with her customers somewhat eye-to-eye. “Whatever is wrapped up in there stinks of magic, so that’s another point in your favor. All right, fake mage, I’ll take your bet.”
