NPCs (21 page)

“We stole from their town,” Timuscor reminded him. “Which we didn’t need to do. They only wanted a little bit of gold to trade, and we had more than enough after the ogre camp.”

“Why would we buy what we could take?” Terriora asked. If there were ever a motto for rogues, that would have been a quite viable candidate. “Besides, you shouldn’t care if we stole: you’re a knight now. That’s why we didn’t let you re-roll a pally.”

“I can still try to be good.” Timuscor’s defense was half-hearted at best; he’d grown weary of protesting the others’ actions. It was easier just to let them do things their way. That was why he’d been a knight, instead of a paladin, this time: knights weren’t obliged to speak up against moral injustices. Even when they really wanted to.

“At least I got to smoke a few of them with a fireblast,” Glennvint said, gleefully reminiscing about the innocent guard’s incineration.

“That was smart,” Mitchzelin told him. “Last thing we need is them sending a rider ahead to get us in trouble with Solium. That’s something
Russell
would totally do just to be a jerk.” His acidic emphasis on Russell’s name left no doubt of his sentiment toward the young man.

“That seems less jerky than it does us reaping the consequences of our actions,” Timuscor pointed out.

“Kissass,” Terriora mumbled, very much over his breath.

“Shut up. Look, do we even have a plan for when we get to Solium? We aren’t exactly invited guests anymore,” Timuscor said.

“This is the one time where
Russell’s
emphasis on realism comes in handy,” Mitchzelin said. “The missive our last group had still exists; the king is still expecting someone to show up. All we have to do is present ourselves and say we lost the scroll. No big deal.”

“But what if he’s already discovered our characters are dead? Or found someone else to do the job?” Timuscor asked.

“How would he already know about us dying in some shithole tavern half a kingdom away? That would be stupid. But yeah, he might have hired someone else to do the job; that seems like the kind of bullshit
Russell
would pull on us. Even that problem is easily solvable, though.”

“How do you figure?” Terriora asked.

“Simple; we just find them, and work out a nice little compromise with diplomacy. Well, Glennvint’s style of diplomacy, anyway.” Mitchzelin let out a laugh at his own wit, one that was quickly echoed by Terriora and Glennvint as the meaning of his words sunk in. Timuscor tried to muster up a small chuckle, but it was pretty pathetic.

The other travelers, already a distance away from the adventurers, moved a bit further still.

* * *

The castle of Solium, home to King Liadon and central capitol of the kingdom, was an impressive sight to behold. Like the city itself, the castle was ringed in an outer stone wall with only a single set of gates to enter through. Along the walls stood a variety of soldiers with bows, staffs, and swords, clearly braced for any sort of threat that might present itself. The grounds leading up to the wall were covered in grass — the first bit of it Eric and the others had seen since entering the city — with only a single road leading up to the gates. Despite the lush greenery, not one person set foot on the grass surrounding the walls. Given the number of soldiers lining the road to the gates, it seemed a fair bet that walking on the grass was taboo, and earned a swift enough punishment to discourage even the most daring.

The four adventurers led their horses carefully along, taking their places in a line that ran down the road and up to the castle’s wall gate. It seemed today was a popular day to visit the castle, or perhaps this was the routine and they had mismanaged their expectations. As they waited, Eric took note of the exchanges at the gate. It seemed a guard would interview one person in the group, that person would either talk or display a document, and then the guard would open the gates.

That pattern held until the fourth group, when the guard snatched the paper away, tore it in half, and beat the traveler across the shoulder with his polearm. The group was sent hurrying back up the road, past the other waiting travelers, and heading in the direction of Solium’s gate.

“What do you think that was about?” Eric asked.

“Probably a forgery,” Thistle said. “I’d wager the guards are checking for people that are known, expected, or have scrolls that authorize them to enter the castle. That fellow was likely trying to get in with fake papers.”

“All that just to enter? Seems excessive,” Gabrielle said.

“Perhaps, but it is the capitol of an entire kingdom. And it’s not like there aren’t ample folks with reason to sneak through the gates. Plenty of money to be made and havoc to be wreaked inside a castle, after all.”

“Has it occurred to anyone else that we have no clue about the authenticity of the scroll in our possession?” Eric asked.

The group fell into a moment of dumbstruck silence before a snort of laughter from Grumph broke the spell.

“That would be funny,” Gabrielle said.

“Aye, if we’d done all this and it turns out we’re dealing with a forgery, that would be quite a surprise. A nice one, though, since it would mean our job was done.”

“It would mean our job never needed doing,” Gabrielle corrected. “And that we just wasted weeks of our lives.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. If nothing else, we got some nifty new equipment out of the bargain,” Thistle reminded her. “That has to be us coming out ahead.”

“Grumph burned down his bar,” Eric reminded him.

A small frown ran along Thistle’s shrunken face. “Aye, that part slipped my mind. Well then, I suppose we’re back to hoping the scroll in my pack is the genuine article.”

“From the looks of things, we’ll find out in about three groups,” Eric said, gesturing to the clusters of people ahead of them.

“Do we have a plan if it is a fake?” Gabrielle asked.

“As in, where do we go from here? I don’t think so,” Thistle said.

“No, as in, how do we get out of town without the guards trying to beat us?” Gabrielle clarified.

“Oh, that.” Thistle paused for a moment and mulled over the idea. “I suppose ‘run like hell and meet outside the gates’ seems as viable a plan as we’re going to get.”

“Good plan,” Grumph complimented.

* * *

King Liadon sat in his throne room, watching through the window as the procession of travelers made their way past the castle gates. He wasn’t perched on the actual throne; that thing was far too uncomfortable. High-backed, forged from gold, and adorned with jewels in every conceivable nook or cranny, the throne had been fashioned with the intent of impressing all who laid eyes upon it, not providing lumbar support to the man who rested his ass upon it. Instead, he was seated on a small stool with a round, red cushion atop. Among the throne room’s flowing, silk tapestries, white marble walls and floors, and golden trim, it stuck out like… well, like a stool in a throne room. It was comfortable, though, so the king kept it tucked away nearby when there were visitors and pulled it out when he was alone and in need of a seat.

Almost alone, at any rate. Next to him, standing well above the king even if he hadn’t been seated on his stool, was Ardel, his most trusted advisor. Ardel was a half-elf, but the court tried not to hold that against him, mostly because he was also smart, capable, and unwaveringly loyal. The last part mattered more to Liadon than the others. Loyalty was rare, at least when dealing with other royals and aristocrats. He’d take a loyal dunce over an unfaithful genius any day. Thankfully, in Ardel, the king hadn’t had to choose just one trait.

“We’ll soon have enough adventurers for another expedition.” Ardel’s voice was soft, gentle, unassuming. It hid well the pools of dark resourcefulness concealed in his mind.

King Liadon nodded, his shoulder-length, blond hair catching on the long elven ears that stuck out from his head. “What does this make? Eleven?”

“Thirteen, sire.” Unlike the king, Ardel kept his muddy brown hair trimmed short, almost the length of a soldier’s. It drew attention to his ears, the short things that stuck out just a touch and ended in a misshapen-seeming roundness. His ears had none of the human simplicity, or the elven grace. It was for this reason that many half-elves kept their ears concealed, and it was for
that
reason that Ardel left his plainly on display.

“Thirteen, eh? That’s a good number. Not as good as seven or eleven, but those expeditions didn’t turn out any better, so perhaps thirteen is what we need. Have any failed to show up?”

“According to the guards at the gate, the next to last group checked in a few minutes ago: some adventurers who won their missive by slaying kobolds.”

“Kobold slayers?” The king gave a sad shake of his head. It might have knocked his crown askew, had he been wearing one. It, like the throne, was suited for appearance, so it rested on the throne when Liadon didn’t feel a need to impress anyone. “I almost pity them. That group likely won’t make it past the entrance.”

“Likely not,” Ardel agreed. “But one never knows who the hands of fate will guide.”

“Of course, of course; that’s why we’re grabbing all we can. What’s the deadline on this last batch of missives, anyway?”

“Tomorrow at sunrise,” Ardel said. He had no need to double check a scroll or notebook to recall this information. It was his duty to be abreast of all things his king might need to know.

“Very good. We’ll do the briefing at noon. Oh, and have some riders ready to go if the last group doesn’t arrive,” King Liadon ordered.

“The usual instructions, sire?”

“Of course. If they failed to come, kill them. If they fell while en route, kill everyone responsible. Maybe a few extra too, just to send the message. Can’t have the peasants getting ideas about killing people in royal employ. Adventurers are too useful.” King Liadon turned his gaze back out the window, his eyes charting the movements of various riders. After a moment of observation, he spoke again.

“Oh, one more thing. Is the next batch of missives drawn up?”

“Yes, sire. They’ll go out as soon as the thirteenth expedition starts.”

“Send them out today,” King Liadon instructed. “Lucky numbers aside, no sense in not getting expedition fourteen off the ground as soon as possible. We both know, odds are, these adventurers will likely be corpses before the next new moon.”

“Yes, sire.”

* * *

Despite their worrying, the process of getting through the castle gates had gone quite smoothly. Thistle handed a guard the scroll they’d acquired only a few short weeks ago, the guard had looked it over, then handed it back, and with that, they were ushered through onto the castle’s grounds.

More grass ran along the landscape, but now, it was broken up into sections, with roads and various buildings in between. These roads ran in a complex, circular pattern with the castle standing at the center. It was a squat, grey cube of a building, almost aggressively unremarkable. It was certainly overshadowed by the presence of one of the three great Solium towers within the same grounds. To some, it would seem that the builders had no eye for aesthetic details. To those gifted with a bit more intelligence, they would understand that the castle was not meant to awe with ostentatiousness; it was meant to impress by being fortified and impregnable.

As Grumph and the others made it past the gates, they found themselves almost immediately greeted by another guard. This one wore less-imposing armor than the others, and actually permitted himself to smile a bit as he stopped the adventurers from moving forward.

“Good day,” he greeted. “What business have you at the castle?”

“We were given a missive to come see the king for a task,” Thistle told him. “You see, we defe—”

“Right, more for the expedition.” The guard jerked his thumb to the left, pointing to a large, stone building further down the road. “Go over there and talk to the guard out front. He’ll put your horses to the stables and set you up in a room. You should get your instructions sometime tomorrow. Until then, there’s food, beds, and a training ring out back. Try not to break anything.”

Eric opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but Thistle shook his head. The guard was done with them, already walking over to the next group coming through the gates. Eric pursed his lips, but kept silent, keeping pace as they headed over to the building where they’d been instructed to go. It was a bit insulting, to be treated so dismissively after everything they’d gone through to get here. Eric calmed himself by keeping in mind that they weren’t coming in as heroes of Appleram, having helped thwart a demon invasion, but as mere kobold exterminators.

As they drew closer to the building, the sounds of battle reached their ears. From their perch on the road, they could make out several figures behind the building, swinging various weapons at one another. Many were using wooden implements; however, several had real blades in their hands as they attacked their opponents. From a glance, it appeared there were at least ten to fifteen people out there.

“Right then, so, a building full of adventurers,” Eric surmised, words breaking free at last.

“Seems that way,” Thistle agreed.

“Why, though? Another tournament?” Gabrielle asked.

“They don’t need adventurers for a Solium tournament; that’s where royals show their stuff,” Thistle said. “I’d wager it’s for a task too difficult or dangerous for a single party to handle.”

“Or for competition,” Grumph added.

“Aye, that might be it too, having us all compete for the same goal so that the king only has to reward one party.”

“Is everyone out to screw adventurers?” Eric muttered.

“Seems that way,” Gabrielle agreed. If it occurred to either one of them that only a short time ago they’d have laughed off such practices as what the troublemakers deserved, they both chose not to comment on it.

The party soon reached the building where, just as they’d been told, another guard was waiting out front. He helped them down, then called some attendants to bring their horses to the nearby stables. After checking their missive for confirmation, he directed them into the building to get settled.