by Drew Hayes
“No sense standing around,” Thurm told him. The dwarf walked over to the nearest sack of coins and hunkered down. From a pouch on his side, he pulled out an abacus and a rune that would glow in the presence of false coins. Sylan took the cue and removed both tools from his own pouch. The party stood nearby, not interfering, but keeping close watch on the tallying of their gold.
Sylan was glad he’d taken an early lunch. By the looks of things, they had a long day’s work ahead of them.
* * *
Ulkin woke with a start to the sound of sheets tearing. He groaned softly, blinking away the mid-morning light. How had he managed to sleep in so late? The answer was obvious, upon reflection; he slept as long as he needed to for his dream to come to an end. Pulling himself free of the blanket he’d partially shredded, Ulkin realized he was sweating and his heart was hammering in his mighty chest. It seemed dreams sent from the gods were no small thing. He wondered how paladins were able to bear it.
Pulling the sheet free from his bed, Ulkin set it aside for mending later in the day. Growing up as a half-orc in a temple with weaker creatures, he’d gotten enough experience at sewing ripped fabric to qualify as at least a journeyman tailor. Half-orcs grew fast and clumsy in their adolescence, which made them especially hard on clothing. It had been some time since he’d torn his blanket in the night, though. Under different circumstances, Ulkin would have felt a bit ashamed at the apparent slip in his control. However, seeing as he’d been visited by Grumble personally in a vision, he deemed it a forgivable accident.
Even now, the dream was still vivid in his mind. It wasn’t fading in the daylight like most nightly visions. The visit had seemed brief, although time in that realm must have been more slippery than he realized. Or perhaps the dream had ended hours ago, and it was only now that his body had recovered enough to wake itself. Anything was possible when dealing with the gods.
Despite the strangeness of such a morning, Ulkin felt at peace, even more so than usual. No doubt it had come from his talk with Grumble. One always did their best for the gods, but even when dealing with the god of the minions, Ulkin had never expected his efforts to be worth taking note of. The work he did was more for the followers than for Grumble himself, which had made it all the more incredible to hear from his god’s own mouth that he’d seen the effort Ulkin put in to running the temple, and that Grumble was proud of him.
If Ulkin could have lived in that moment, outside reality, basking in the approval of his deity, he would have happily done so. But there was always more work for the faithful, and Grumble hadn’t paid him a visit simply to tell him he was doing a good job. No, the god of the minions had come with a task, something only Ulkin could do. Had anyone else asked it of him, Ulkin would have refused outright. Even coming from Grumble himself, Ulkin wondered if perhaps the earlier kind words weren’t there to simply butter him up. Thankfully, his faith allowed him to dismiss such a notion. He would follow Grumble’s orders even without the compliment, and the divine kobold certainly knew that.
Nonetheless, Ulkin hoped Grumble was willing to make a few more dream appearances in the minds of some of the other clergy, specifically those a bit higher up in the order. Otherwise, they were going to be extremely angry once they learned what Ulkin had done. Claiming it was the will of the gods only held up if the gods were actually willing to back the story.
Ulkin would simply need to have faith that Grumble would see him through. It certainly helped bolster his spirits that only a few days prior, some adventurers had interrupted the men who were beating Ulkin’s parishioners and had turned their unconscious bodies over to the Camnarael guards. Thistle and the others were no doubt tracking down the source, but it was still nice to see the pews filled once more with Grumble’s faithful who were no longer afraid to journey to his temple.
Those faces made the task before Ulkin more bearable. Not easier, not by quite a long shot, but more bearable. And, for a priest of Grumble, that was enough.
* * *
“Let’s see, after helping with the rats, you all gained one gold and eight silver apiece, along with some freshly baked bread,” Russell announced to the group. “And while the priest at the temple of Grumble wasn’t able to offer you any monetary reward, since the church’s funds were already pledged to those who undertook the quest, he did bless you all in Grumble’s name.”
“Given how some of these fights have gone, I’ll take every bit of help we can get.” Cheri was still amazed at how tough those mercs beating up the worshippers of Grumble had been. She had expected the random encounter to be a quick affair, but each one of those bastards had fought to the last breath. It certainly didn’t help matters that they’d been aiming to knock them out rather than kill them, which limited their options. She hadn’t been a big fan of the strategy, but since the hoodlums had never taken a life, it would hardly do for the party to kill them outright. At least, not if they wanted Timanuel’s help.
“Blessings are wonderful; however, that makes two good deeds I’ve peeled us off course to do,” Tim said. “I think even a stalwart paladin like Timanuel can accept that the next task we take should come with a high payout. Given the travel time on some of these, there’s no telling how many more we can cram in before the Grand Quest.”
“Wimberly certainly won’t fight you on that. She’s got enough gold to resupply once more before the next mission. After that gear gets spent, you’re going to have a gadgeteer throwing pinecones that have been tied together,” Bert said.
“Gelthorn deeply wishes she could have helped more in the battle.” Alexis stared down at her sheet, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Despite being one of their front-line members, Gelthorn’s neurosis at being in a big city had made it impossible for her to fight hand-to-hand. Only a few good Willpower saves had permitted Gelthorn the clarity to act as archer.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find something far outside Camnarael—in a smaller town, if not the wilderness,” Tim assured her. “That fight made it very clear how badly we need Gelthorn in tip-top shape to survive.”
Tim really didn’t know the half of it. Even Russell had been a bit shocked at how strong the trio they’d fought was. If a few rolls had gone differently, it very well could have been a different battle. It was strange that the module presented such a steep challenge for such a minimal reward, but then again, it was possible that a blessing from Grumble might come in handy. The further into the material he went, the more conditions and modifiers earned through questing came into play. Depending on the path they took, that blessing might very well save the whole party. Or it could do nothing; it really all rested on them.
“So I take it that, after collecting your reward from the clerk, you’re going to ask about available quests?” Russell said.
“Damn straight,” Cheri replied. “Mama needs a new spell book and some magical shielding. Plus, I’d still like to know what’s in that chest we’ve been carting around.”
“It’s a lot easier to transport since we shrank it, but I agree,” Bert said. “We might be running ourselves ragged when there’s a fortune already in our inventory.”
“You’re all free to spend time trying to locate someone who could guide you on how to open it; however, there are no promises that you’ll find one. It’s your time, spend it as you like.” Russell only barely resisted the urge to goad them on. Although he’d tried to dig through the massive tome as much as possible, he hadn’t found the section saying what was in the chest—assuming players had earned it in the last module. Somewhere deep down, he suspected that section didn’t even exist yet, and that it wouldn’t until the players forced it to. If he was going to think like a crazy person, he’d decided it made more sense to just lean into it and work with the assumption that the book was changing.
“It’s tempting, but Camnarael is our best shot for that, and we need to get Gelthorn out of town,” Tim said. “Besides, we can’t afford to risk wasting a whole week of questing on what might be a wild-goo
se chase. The Grand Quest is coming. We need to be ready.”
“Quite the sensible choice,” Russell said, meaning every word of it. Curious as he was, there was no denying that with the Grand Quest growing nearer by the day, they’d need every second they could get to prepare and gear up.
It was the choice that any reasonable adventurer would make, assuming they valued their lives.
Chapter 36
It took over a week before Eric managed to hit the release to his door on the first shot. In that time, his crossbow had two minor breakdowns he’d had to repair, poorly, which set the sights even more off-kilter. And yet, with each passing day, he learned to adjust to the changes more quickly, calculating the angles with fewer and fewer stray bolts. By the time he hit the small target on his first try, Eric had a feeling he could pick up nearly any crossbow and figure out how to aim it with only a couple of test shots. True, the practice wasn’t making him better at hitting over long distances, but it was making him more adaptable. Besides, ranged shooting was what the afternoon training was for.
Eric emerged from his room to find a lockbox containing his food, as usual. The boxes changed every day—sometimes it was five locks, like on the first morning; other times, he’d had to crack as many as ten. Occasionally, there would be only a single lock, but those were the hardest. The intricacies of those locks demanded more concentration than Eric had ever needed before; the slightest tremor of his hands could undo a half hour’s worth of hard work. Elora was sparing with those, thankfully, never giving them to him on consecutive mornings. Since the first two times he’d tried them had resulted in failure, it was a gesture he deeply appreciated.
On this particular day, his breakfast was behind seven locks, which Eric began to work on immediately. The time he had for his morning tasks never changed, meaning that whatever he couldn’t accomplish went undone. Training in day-old clothes without a shower was rough, but nothing compared to doing it on an empty stomach. Sometimes he suspected Elora used the highly difficult strongboxes when she wanted him to learn to focus past distractions such as hunger or pain. Before, he might have questioned the validity of some of these practices. Their time raiding the mercenary base had shown him just how useful the skills she was honing in him were, however. And how far he still had to go.
The strongbox opened to reveal a breakfast of dried meat and berries, which Eric was quickly gulping down as Elora stepped into view. Even after all their time down here, he was still never entirely sure where she came from. Hard as he trained to get better at seeing through and blending in with shadows, he could never seem to match her.
“I left you a fun hallway to work your way through today,” Elora said, walking without so much as a sound across the hard stone floor. “Pretty sure you won’t finish it before I return, but on the off-chance you do, then work on your crossbow practice. Given your friends’ limited ranged attacks, I’m going to make a fair shot out of you yet.”
Elora’s idea of “fun” meant that Eric would be spending the entire morning trying to dodge, worm, and disarm his way through a myriad of traps. Most of them were non-lethal, at least, although that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt like hell when he messed up. Failure was never without consequence as a rogue, and Elora’s training centered around teaching that.
“What will you be doing today?” Eric asked, barely pausing between bites of dried meat. If she didn’t expect him to finish, that only made it all the more important that he succeed before she returned.
“Seems like your friends have finally recovered from the battle enough to go shopping,” Elora told him. “And as their promised negotiator, I’m obligated to go along and get them the best prices in town. Plus, I’ll need to make sure and get you outfitted properly. Can’t very well have my student setting off on the Grand Quest with nothing but a hand-me-down short sword and half-torn veilpanther armor.”
“Shouldn’t I be going to pick things out?” Eric already knew he wasn’t invited, and he didn’t want to waste the day of training, but every bit of information he could pull from Elora was valuable. One never knew when that would come in handy.
“Shockingly, I think I’m more than qualified to know what sort of equipment a rogue needs,” Elora said. “Speaking of: if you’re willing to listen to reason on the matter of your sword, we haven’t sold the other one yet.”
Eric’s eyes moved, unbidden, to the short sword lying a few feet away from him. Although everyone had offered to let him take the unbroken blade they’d recovered from the cloaked man, he hadn’t been able to accept. Even though he knew it wasn’t strong enough for the road ahead, Eric couldn’t bring himself to part with the blade. He recalled so little of his father, the famed paladin, and had even less to remember him by. That weapon, meant to be a training tool until he grew strong enough to handle a longsword, was the only memento he’d taken with him from Maplebark.
“I’m keeping my current sword,” Eric told Elora, turning his attention back to breakfast.
“Ordinarily, I’d chide you for the sentimentality, but after things with Holdram... well, I’m not quite as adverse to that sort of loyalty as I might normally be. However, that doesn’t change the fact that we need to find a solution. Stronger monsters and enemies have armor that only magic can pierce, and all the emotional attachment in the world won’t change that.”
“Good thing I have such a brilliant teacher doing my shopping for me.” Eric resisted the urge to smirk only by stuffing the rest of his food in his mouth at once, rendering his cheeks too full for any proper expression.
Elora made a tsk noise under her tongue. “If that was glibness, I’m proud, and if it was charm, then you’re a lost cause. Either way, I’ll try and think of something. Worst case scenario, you’ll have to make peace with a backup weapon for when that blade can’t—forgive the expression here—cut it. Those merchants are a wily bunch, though; it might be that they’ve got something to fix the problem. Just have to make sure I can get it at the right price.”
While Eric had yet to see Elora negotiate, he’d experienced enough of her personality to know it would be brutal and ruthless, with more than a small chance some poor shopkeeper would end up in tears. All of a sudden, spending the whole time testing his wits against an array of painful traps didn’t seem like such a bad option.
As he rose, eyes on the waving hooks where his fresh clothes were waiting, Eric debated whether his next question would overstep the bounds of their student-teacher relationship. Since she’d brought it up a few days ago, however, he imagined it was probably okay for him to inquire about progress on the issue.
“May I ask... what about Timuscor? Have you thought of what you’re going to do in that regard?”
Elora shook her head, her lovely face darkening for a moment. “No. I’ve racked my brain and come up empty. As it stands, I fear I’m going to have to do the one thing I wanted most to avoid.” She shuddered, though whether it was involuntary or theatrics, Eric wasn’t quite sure. “I’m going to have to admit that I’m in his debt and simply ask him what he wants as repayment.”
* * *
“I need to get back to the Hall before lunch,” Thistle protested as Ulkin led him farther into the temple.
They took a sharp turn into what appeared to be a dead end. Only when Ulkin pressed against a small cluster of stones did the wall begin to turn, revealing a hidden stairwell stretching downward.
“If you’d stopped by since your return, I wouldn’t have had to send a messenger for you,” Ulkin replied gruffly.
“Our last task weakened all of my friends and I greatly; we needed time to recover. We needed real rest, more than what magical healing could offer. Pushing ourselves so hard took a heavy toll. Only in the last day or so have we begun to truly revive. I did send a messenger of my own to let you know the task was done.” Thistle knew it was a poor excuse, especially when that same messenger had told Ulkin that Thistle would be visiting soon, but he had severely underestimated how much time would
be needed to recover.
“And while I appreciate that, the fact still remains that you and I have business to attend to.” Ulkin led Thistle down the stairs—dry stones that seemed as though they’d been undisturbed for years. Clearly, this was not the temple’s cellar, where wine for the altar and extra robes were stored. No, this was something special, and Thistle soon realized that with every step further down, he could feel the presence of something below them growing stronger. It was impossible to describe, yet it filled him with ease. This was like the opposite of sensing evil; his entire body seemed to unknot and relax.
“The Hall was supposed to tell you that we didn’t want the money,” Thistle said. He already had a hunch that this wasn’t about a few coins; however, it seemed prudent to make certain. No sense in being presumptuous.
Ulkin didn’t reply this time. Instead, he kept going, his lantern held forward to light their path. Further and further they plunged, far deeper than Thistle had imagined the temple could possibly go. At last, they came to a stone wall with a white door. Upon it were countless runes, all of which shimmered with an ethereal light as Ulkin pressed his hand to the door.
“This door will only open for those with a good reason to be here,” Ulkin said. Even as he spoke, the stones parted, revealing a new room within. “It was built with the temple, by priests and mages far more skilled than I. Grumble’s people may know little of direct combat, but there are few orders with more specialists in warding, protection, and construction.”
That was certainly true enough—as the ones who did all the hard work, minions often knew more about building dungeons than the wicked masters they served. As for protection, when one worked with murderous sociopaths, it was a good skill to learn, especially if one had hopes of living to see old age.
