NPCs (8 page)

“Pull up a seat,” Eric welcomed, motioning her over. “There wasn’t much meat that survived the fire, but a big gathering party rounded up plenty of apples and berries this afternoon.”

Gabrielle nodded and sat down next to Eric. He looked different, somehow. It took a moment for her to realize that he’d yet to re-don his armor. How many years had it been since she’d seen him sans reflective protection? It seemed to have done him good; his back was straighter, and the usual pained expression was nowhere to be seen on his face.

“Not to pester, but I wanted to make sure of something,” Thistle said as Gabrielle piled her plate full of various fruits. “I assume they didn’t send a runner this morning?”

“Definitely not,” she confirmed. “After last night, they aren’t ready to take on a band of adventurers. They need time to rebuild and refortify. Besides, they said it didn’t seem right, keeping us after we helped them. As far as they’re concerned, we’re free to go.”

“Good,” Thistle said, nodding his head. “I’d already chatted with them and gotten that story, but I just wanted to make sure they’d told you the same thing.”

Gabrielle’s hand froze, a fistful of grapes suspended mid-way to her mouth.

“Thistle, you don’t speak Gobleck.”

“Correction: I didn’t speak Gobleck,” Thistle said. “Technically, I still don’t. Everything they say sounds to me like it’s being said in the Proper Kingdom Language. Presumably, they hear my responses in Proper as if I’d said them in Gobleck.”

“That’s impossible,” Gabrielle pointed out.

“Not really, it makes ample sense. Goblins are one of the most frequent races used as minions, and as such, they are devout worshippers of Grumble. It seems perfectly fitting that a paladin of Grumble should be able to speak with them.”

“You’re not a—”

“I am,” Thistle said, cutting her off. “Unlikely as it sounds, I assure you, I am. Presumably, they told you about your miraculous healing?”

“Yes, but I just assumed they were mistaken, and some other traveler had done it. We all sort of look the same to them,” Gabrielle replied.

“It was me. For better or worse, last night changed a few things. I think it best we discuss those, and alter our plans as needed before moving beyond this point. Goblins don’t talk much with travelers, but in a few days, we’ll reach Appleram up the road. Whatever identities we introduce ourselves as there will then be set in stone, because changing them could end with us coming out as frauds.”

“I see,” Gabrielle said, finally moving the grapes to her mouth and crunching into them. “Setting aside the ‘how’ of your paladin-hood, it means that you’re now a better candidate to play the part than Eric.”

“To be fair, I was never all that good of a candidate to begin with,” Eric admitted. “I was just the one who owned armor.”

“Aye, and I suppose I’ll need to get myself a set of that before we reach Solium,” Thistle said, pulling out a quill and parchment, and jotting a few things down.

“Then, who plays the rogue?” Gabrielle asked.

“From what the goblins tell me, it seems Eric was quite nimble last night, darting in and out of battle, hiding in the shadows.” Thistle’s quill moved deftly and precisely even as he spoke.

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow at Eric, who turned his attention to his food and blushed slightly. “Clumsy Eric did that?”

“I don’t really know how,” Eric mumbled, moving his berries around his plate. “Everyone else just sort of seemed to be moving slower. I guess I’m used to being weighed down, and when I wasn’t, I felt fast.”

“You didn’t just feel fast, you were fast,” Thistle corrected. “Fast, stealthy, and deadly. Just like one would expect a rogue to be.”

Eric’s blush deepened. “I don’t know why my sword worked so much better than everyone else’s. It’s an old hand-me-down.”

“A hand-me-down from your father?” Thistle probed.

“Well, I didn’t get it from my mother.”

“That might account for it. Paladin weapons are usually blessed; it’s possible the one he passed down to you had such magic on it. Demons loathe blessed weapons,” Thistle explained.

“A rogue with a blessed sword,” Gabrielle chuckled. “What will they think of next?”

“I daresay I might be able to answer that question,” Thistle told her. “Grumph, if you please.”

Grumph gave a grunt and pulled the spellbook from his pouch, setting it on the table in front of Gabrielle.

“Oh, good, I’d worried we lost that,” Gabrielle remarked. She reached forward to take her book; however, Grumph put a thick finger on top, rendering it difficult to move.

“Gabby, were you able to cast any of the spells from that book yesterday?” Thistle asked.

“No, I didn’t get much time to look at it before we were attacked.”

“Do you think you could have?”

“Maybe. They were tough, but I could have probably gotten through at least one with enough time to practice.”

“Grumph has cast three of them. One last night, and two this afternoon while we waited for you,” Thistle informed her.

Gabrielle’s eyes went up as she stared across the table at the stoic half-orc. It wasn’t that she thought Grumph to be stupid, it was just… who’d ever heard of a half-orc wizard?

“If you want to try and play the part, it’s only fair that we give you some time to practice,” Thistle continued.

“No, Grumph should be the wizard,” Gabrielle said immediately. As soon as she’d realized what Thistle was telling her, it became obvious. The one most likely to pull off a role should be the one it was given to. Their task was too important for any other strategy to be considered. “If he cast three spells with less than a day to read that thing, he’s better suited to it. The only issue is that now we’re short a barbarian.”

“That’s not what the goblins told Thistle,” Eric interjected, his own shyness fading now that he was no longer the subject of discussion.

“It seems you swing a good axe,” Thistle added.

“No, that was just one of those things. I like this tribe and seeing them get killed set me off. It was closer to a tantrum than bravery.”

“As someone who has traveled with a barbarian before, I assure you, the capacity to turn fury into blood is almost the entire prerequisite checklist,” Thistle told her.

“Forgive my lingering doubt,” Gabrielle said. “I’ll do it, because everyone has roles that fit them better. I’m just saying, don’t lean on me during a real fight.”

“Concerns have been noted,” Thistle said. He could have pushed her harder, but he felt like she was more likely to come around on her own if given time. Now, the better strategy was to pull back and let the idea marinate. “Role changes aside, the plan stays the same from here. We keep heading toward Solium, and do our best not to die along the way. Any objections?”

Only silence and nodding heads met Thistle’s question.

“Then, I say we get a good night of rest and set out in the morning,” Thistle suggested. “We’re not quite running late, but we don’t have time to dawdle.”

“Plus, we should try and train a little on the way,” Eric added. “So we seem somewhat competent in our fake skills.”

“Aye, in our ‘fake’ skills indeed,” Thistle said, catching Grumph’s eye and giving a light shake of his head. They’d catch on in their own time. For now, there was dinner and sleep to attend to.

9.

The next morning saw the party rising with the sun, having a quick breakfast composed primarily of more fruit, and packing up their bedrolls. The few possessions they’d left Maplebark with had diminished even further, many of their things lost in the fire and chaos of the attack. Their packs, luckily, had been stored below the carts, so their basic necessities were still accounted for. Eric’s armor had survived the fire as well; however, he elected to abandon it. It was part of his old life, and any sentimentality he might have held toward it was suppressed by the stomach-turning thought of strapping himself back into the cumbersome apparatus.

The goblins did their best to replace what they could, offering ponies and provisions for the journey ahead. The ponies were mostly declined, because even the hardiest of them would have broken under Grumph’s weight; though Thistle accepted one on the grounds that his normal gait would slow everyone else down. The provisions were also taken with thanks. Thistle was offered a set of goblin armor, since he was the only one that was small enough to wear any, but he declined and instead requested a pair of sturdy daggers, a matched set, if possible. The goblins brought forth an array of their weapons, and eventually Thistle selected two that, while not actually a set, were close enough to fool a casual observer.

With one last word of thanks, and a promise to slow any Maplebark citizens that might come through the camp in pursuit, the goblins waved goodbye to the strange party that headed down the road to Appleram.

Once they’d been on the road for some time, Eric broke the silence that had seamlessly settled over them.

“I wanted to ask, why’d you turn down the armor? I thought you said you needed some.”

“Aye, I likely do,” Thistle agreed. “But right now, we’re a rather bedraggled bunch. When we get to Appleram, people will ask what happened. I intend to tell them the truth: we were kidnapped by goblins and we fought our way free.”

“That makes it sound like we fought the goblins,” Gabrielle pointed out.

“Which is what I want them to infer,” Thistle clarified. “People get waylaid by goblins all the time. It won’t raise a single eyebrow, or prompt many questions, and that’s what we want. Get in, resupply, get back on the road, and remain as unmemorable as possible.”

“Why bother?” Eric asked.

“Look, when we get to Solium with the scroll, there might be a bit of curiosity about us; but unless we give them a reason, they won’t waste the magic to verify we’re really the same adventurers who killed the kobolds. Appleram, however, is close enough to Maplebark that if we make anyone too interested, they might take a leisurely ride back in this direction. A ride that would take them through Maplebark, and it wouldn’t require more than one or two questions to piece together who we really are.”

“That is, and I say this having known you for years, just amazingly paranoid,” Gabrielle commented.

“Better paranoid, than dead,” Grumph said, momentarily looking up from the spellbook he’d had his face buried in for hours. How he walked and read at the same time was a mystery to all of them, yet the lack of tripping clearly indicated that he had a system and it worked.

“Precisely, old friend,” Thistle agreed. “Anyway, a few daggers and a pony can be explained away as things grabbed hastily in battle. A set of armor is far more conspicuous, hence why I didn’t accept the offer. If anyone asks why I’m an unarmored paladin, I’ll just tell them a set of armor was one of the things we lost in the capture.”

“We lost my set of armor,” Eric said.

“What I said is still technically true,” Thistle pointed out.

“Oh yeah, now that you’re a paladin, does that mean you can’t lie?” Gabrielle asked.

“Different gods have different rules. Given that minions constantly have to lie to their master, if only to assuage their egos and assure them they’re brilliant and unbeatable, I doubt Grumble objects much to an occasional fib. Still, I find lying to be more dangerous than expertly telling the truth, so I avoid it whenever possible.”

“Whatever floats your galleon,” Gabrielle said, adjusting the axe strapped to her back for the umpteenth time since setting out. The actual sheath was one of the things lost in the fire, so the goblins had rigged a makeshift sheath from a canvas grain sack and some leather straps. It wasn’t pretty, and it wouldn’t allow her to draw quickly, but it allowed her to heft the weapon along without tiring out her arms. Grumph had offered to carry it for her, but Gabrielle’s own paranoia had reminded her to stick to her role. She was the barbarian; she would carry her own axe.

They continued on in near-silence after that, save for the clopping of Thistle’s pony, each lost in the thoughts of what they were trying to do, and how in the names of the gods they had any hope of accomplishing it.

* * *

Two days later, a party of four adventurers wandered into Appleram a few hours before sunset. Three of them were on foot, while the fourth was mounted on a very weary-looking pony. Dust from the road coated their boots and pants, and two wolf pelts were slung over the back of the pony, no doubt the glorious prize from a random encounter on the road.

The quartet made a beeline for the local inn, which was also the tavern, where the pony was hitched and the gear quickly handed out. A blonde woman with a two-handed axe strapped strangely to her back took the wolf carcasses, heading off toward the tannery with her male companion, while the half-orc and the gnome went inside the inn.

On most days, this would have been a sight worth noting. Appleram was a large town, easily the biggest one between Solium and Piro, the next kingdom south, but its townspeople were still interested in hearing tales from adventurers and sometimes in negotiating services from them. That was most of the time. These days, nearly every villager of Appleram who saw them lope through town had, roughly, the same reaction:

“Oh shit, not more of them.”

* * *

Grumph and Thistle realized something was amiss as soon as they entered the tavern. This particular establishment, much like Grumph’s and many others throughout the land, utilized the downstairs floor for food and alcohol, while the upper floors were lodging rooms travelers could rent. Years of running an inn had taught Grumph to expect a rush at dinner, a few constant customers at the bar, and occasional clusters of adventurers. Once, during a season where there was rumored to be a dragon in the area, there had been three parties in his tavern at the same time, but that was the most he’d ever seen.

Walking in the door, Grumph counted seven distinct parties, all huddled together at their own tables, many throwing suspicious glances at the others in the room. Any regulars that might have normally dined here had long since abandoned the room to the new patrons.

Grumph and Thistle were both assessed as soon as they walked in and dismissed just as quickly. Neither minded this in the slightest. Making their way to the bar, they passed a set of five humans, all of whom grew silent when they walked by. Whatever was going on, it seemed even those who were deemed not to be threats still weren’t allowed within earshot.