NPCs (3 page)

A stray tear may have slipped from Gabrielle’s eye as her steed broke into a gallop. Despite their meddling, she truly did love her parents greatly. She hated having to make them worry as they would when she vanished. Still, it was that same love for them that spurred her on, away from the comfortable life she’d known since birth. This was the only chance she had to protect them.

She urged her horse to run faster. Gabrielle was not one to linger on sadness, or hard decisions, so she raced forward as fast as she could to meet her future.

* * *

The grave on the hill was small and simple, yet painstakingly maintained. It was marked by a modest headstone and overlooked a brook that was about an hour’s walk from town. It had been one of her favorite spots; Thistle had dug the grave himself so that his wife might have a pleasant view for eternity.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit again for some time,” he said, voice rising over the gentle lap of the water on the bank. “The winds have begun to blow again, it seems.” Thistle adjusted his stance in a vain attempt to find a comfortable way to stand on the hill’s sloping surface.

“I don’t want you to worry about me; I’ll be safe. Grumph is coming along, and so are the human pair I’ve told you about before. They’re green as a dryad’s hair, but good kids overall. Who knows, we might just pull off this little charade.”

The small gnome paused and looked out at the scenery. It was truly lovely here; he had hoped to be buried on this hill alongside her when his god called him home. Sadly, it wasn’t looking too likely now. The only one he’d have trusted with the burial task was Grumph, and Thistle had a feeling that if he fell on their journey, Grumph and the others wouldn’t be far behind.

“And if we don’t,” Thistle added, “then I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon, anyway.”

Thistle gently touched his fingertips to the headstone, then shambled down the hill and began the long trek back toward town.

* * *

Grumph didn’t have a family in Maplebark. He didn’t have graves to visit either. The only person he truly counted as a friend was Thistle, and that wily gnome was coming with him. Grumph did have his tavern, though. He ran his hands along the wooden planks of the bar, remembering how long it had taken him to get the measurements just so. He sipped the mead, savoring its flavor, thinking of all the careful testing and calculations required to get his brew perfect. Grumph sat at one of the many tables he had constructed, in one of the chairs he had carved, and simply took it all in. He had built this bar with love and considerable strength. It had taken the Maplebark residents time to adjust to a half-orc in their midst, but eventually, Grumph had been accepted, doing business with all manner of citizens.

Grumph hadn’t just built a business here, he’d carved a home. And he’d come to love this hamlet of Maplebark, plagued by the occasional weak monsters and villains though it was. Grumph was under no illusions: much as he loved his bar, his creation, it wasn’t a building that made a place home. It was the people. As Grumph poured the lamp fluid on the floor and the tables, he was struck by the poignancy of it all, destroying his house to protect his home. There was a knock on the door, signaling the first of his companions’ arrivals. Perhaps it would be Thistle and there would be time for one last drink.

The
last drink, as it were.

* * *

Grumph’s tavern burned at their backs as they trekked slowly through the forest.

“I still don’t get it,” Eric said as he checked his footing in hopes of avoiding another impressive tumble. “Why did he burn the bar?”

“Let me put it to you this way. What usually happens to abandoned taverns and inns?” Thistle asked him.

“They get inhabited by monsters, or bandit gangs,” Eric replied. It was common knowledge, after all. Adventurers often sought out such locations when hunting for a good fight.

“Precisely. Now, setting aside the logistical concerns of creating a temptation like that in our little town, Grumph built that tavern himself. He poured a piece of himself into its frame and foundation. He cared for it with more affection than I’ve seen some show their children. The idea of some ruffians wrecking it, or kobolds shitting on its floor… it’s too much. Just try to understand that sometimes it is better to see a thing destroyed, rather than ruined.” Thistle hopped lightly along the path in hope of keeping up with his larger companions. It was a difficult proposition, but one he had managed for many years now.

Gabrielle patted the half-orc lightly on his muscular arm. “Sorry about your bar.”

Grumph replied with little more than a grunt, a sound that spoke to both his profound sadness and his appreciation of the heartfelt sentiment. Or it meant he was hungry. Orcish didn’t have many unique sounds, so there was a lot of room for misinterpretation.

The party, for that is what they were whether they liked it or not, had set out at dusk into the woods. They had chosen to walk and avoid main roads for two reasons. First was that Gabrielle’s family would send people looking for her and they needed to make a clean break into their new identities if they hoped to succeed. The other reason was because they hoped to encounter some weak monsters. They might have the tools and garb to pass in their new professions, but none of them had the skills. For that purpose, they would travel at night, when the most monsters were loose, leaving study and rest for the days. It would take them longer to reach the city of Solium; however, it also provided the greatest opportunity for being prepared when they arrived.

To their rear, the smoke billowed into the empty night sky. Despite their hopes, they encountered no animal or monster worth fighting through the evening. In fact, they made such good progress that only Eric heard the fire when it reached the liquor tanks in the basement, sending a fresh fireball into the night and a loud boom across the land.

* * *

Despite their fears and the sense of dread lingering over them, the group made it through the night without being killed or discovered. When they rose after a few hours of unrestful sleep, each set about attending to the task they felt most important, using the daylight to its fullest.

Eric took a few swings with his new blade, managing to accidently hack off some tree branches in the process. The previous paladin had possessed fine taste in steel; there was no doubt about that. The long sword was well-crafted and perfectly balanced. It was also unnecessarily ornate, a gold-plated design worked along the guard and onto the hilt. Unfortunately, its previous owner had also possessed thicker arms than Eric, leading him to struggle with wielding the blade effectively. Back in his guard position, he’d gotten away with using his father’s old short sword, its status as an heirloom saving him from merciless teasing by the other guards.

Thistle was also adapting to his new equipment. The rogue had kept a pair of long, wickedly-serrated daggers that nearly looked like swords in Thistle’s small hands. Still, he was at least proficient with his weapons, twirling them about and practicing a few of the defensive moves he’d learned in his younger, more ambitious days. Testing the heft of his left dagger, Thistle cradled it carefully before whipping his arm suddenly and hurling it into a nearby tree. The dagger struck true, cleaving a few inches deep before wobbling to a rest. Thistle sighed. Accuracy, he still had; power, it seemed, he would need to work on.

Gabrielle was seated cross-legged on the ground a safe distance away from the whirling pieces of steel wielded by her comrades. She focused on the wizard’s book, picking through its open pages and trying to piece together the art of weaving a spell. Gabrielle turned a piece of worn parchment and began to appreciate the reason wizards spent so much time in school learning their craft. While she could comprehend some of the concepts being put forth, it seemed like grasping the whole would take far more than a quick perusing.

Of the four, only Grumph was attending to a more immediate concern rather than training. He had gathered up some berries and tough meat scraps, along with the water from a local brook, to concoct a soup. It certainly wasn’t his finest culinary achievement; however, in the wild one had to make do with what was available. Grumph’s new axe rested near him, relatively untouched. Grumph knew how to swing and knew how to aim. He had faith he would learn the rest through action, rather than practice. Besides, they would need to eat, then rest, if they wanted to continue on their way with the setting of the sun.

It was Eric who heard the first rustling, which was unfortunate. Gabrielle had spent enough time in nature, Thistle had enough experience, and Grumph was simply smart enough to know a rustling bush should always be looked at with suspicion. Eric, on the other hand, merely dismissed it as the wind and continued as he had been taught, blocking out all distractions and focusing on the training at hand. By the time the gentle movement of the leaves reached Thistle’s ears, it was too late to implement any plan aside from bracing for impact.

“Boys and girl,” Thistle said softly, yet firmly. “I believe we are soon to have company in our clearing.”

Gabrielle kept her book open, but seized the quarterstaff at her side while rising to her feet. Grumph kept his eyes trained on the soup. His hands, however, moved deftly and certainly as they wrapped around his axe. Eric pulled his sword up to a fighting stance, eyes darting around nervously as he searched for the threat.

“A word of encouragement,” Thistle said, just before the commotion erupted. “Don’t die. We aren’t nearly far enough away yet.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Gabrielle said through clenched teeth.

After that, there was no time for words or banter.

4.

The wheels of the sturdy cart-cages absorbed the bounces from the multitude of uneven drops in the road, making the trip back to camp surprisingly pleasant for the prisoners. Gabrielle sat in one cart-cage at the front of the convoy, speaking to her captors in a series of loud growls and clicks. Behind her was a cart containing Eric and Thistle, both silent. Eric was nursing a nasty blow he’d taken to the head. At the rear of the convoy was the best-built of all the cages, this one dedicated only to the task of holding Grumph.

To call what had taken place a “battle” would be an overstatement; even “skirmish” would be giving the new adventurers too much credit. Goblins, while physically weaker than humans, were experienced in dealing with stronger opponents, and skilled in using the environment to their advantage. By the time the party had braced for battle, twenty archers had emerged from the bushes, followed immediately by ten warriors with polearms. Making a snap decision, Thistle had immediately called out their surrender. Five arrows apiece was more than he felt confident most of them could endure, and those who did survive wouldn’t be in any shape to fight off a polearm.

Once they’d thrown down their weapons, a goblin runner had been dispatched, returning less than an hour later with some other goblins riding ponies, and of course, the cage-carts. While getting inside, Eric had managed to slip on the step and strike his head against one of the rear planks, resulting in the one and only injury from their “battle.”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Gabrielle called from her cart in the front. She’d been gibbering with the goblins since their capture, greeting them with such familiarity that the others found it somewhat disconcerting. “Bad news is that, now that they know I’m here, they’re going to send a runner into town to announce it and lure out adventurers. The good news is that it’s almost sunset, so they won’t do it until morning.”

“Gabby, pray tell, when did you learn to speak the goblin language?” Thistle asked, his restrained voice as polite as he could make it.

“Gobleck isn’t hard to learn, if you have a decent teacher,” Gabrielle replied. “I learned it years ago from one of the goblin commanders who can speak the Proper Kingdom Language.”

“I think Thistle was more asking about why you speak it,” Eric clarified.

“Because things would be really boring if I didn’t? Sometimes, it’s two or three weeks between when they kidnap me and when the adventurers would arrive for the rescue. That’s a lot of downtime, and the goblins only let me pack so many books when they would kidnap me.”

“They let you pack?” Eric asked, certain his ears had deceived him like the vile villains they were.

“They did once I explained to them that it would make my downtime more pleasant. Don’t get me wrong, they make a point of teaching me things about the forest and taking me on hunts, but they’ve got real things to do and can’t spend all day defending me from boredom.”

“It’s pleasing to know we have such kind hosts,” Thistle said, jumping in before Eric asked any more questions that might ultimately give the young man a stroke. “Any chance they’d let us out of the cages once we arrive at their war camp?”

“I don’t think so. If it were just me, certainly, but since they don’t know you all, I get the feeling they’re trying to keep up appearances. They didn’t even bring my usual horse for me to ride.”

“She has her own horse,” Eric muttered, slinking down against the firm, yet pliable, wooden bars of his moving cell. “I once stayed up for thirty hours straight to guard her door because we heard goblins were in the area, and she has her own horse she rides away on.”

“Riverjump is not
my
horse,” Gabrielle defended. “She’s just one I like, and who knows me. Bringing her makes the whole process easier on everyone.”

“Gabby, I think perhaps we should let Eric be for a bit,” Thistle encouraged. “About how far would you say we are from their camp?”

“With no monster encounters, we’ll be there within the hour.”

“Very well. And you, old friend, how are you faring back there?” Thistle called.

Grumph let out a harrumph, which indicated either that he was unharmed and waiting patiently for a new opportunity to arise, or that a sparrow had shit in his porridge.

Thistle nodded that he understood and took a seat across from Eric in the cart. His crooked little mind was already working on a plan for escape; however, it would do no good if his crooked little body was too worn out from standing through the ride. Now was the time to play patient. They would have at least a few days before any more adventurers happened through town. Opportunity would come eventually.