NPCs (9 page)

Thistle scrambled his way up a bar stool, dearly missing the rungs Grumph had installed on his for the smaller customers, finally coming to a perch with only a minimum of embarrassment. He surveyed the tavern, making note of the strapping human behind the bar serving drinks, as well as the waitresses running to and fro around the tables. From their similar noses and eye color, not to mention the variety of ages, Thistle deduced they were either the bartender’s daughters or some other close kin. He filed this away in case it would be of use later and turned his attention to ordering a drink.

“Two meads, kind sir,” Thistle called to the sizable fellow behind the bar, a man whose salt-and-pepper hair somehow made him seem more distinguished than aged. It was strange how every bartender seemed to convey a sense of toughness that three-day-old kobold steak couldn’t match, but Thistle had always taken it as simply one of those things.

“One silver,” the bartender replied, drawing them each a mug from the barrel nearest to him.

Thistle resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow, but only barely. That much, for two drinks, was outrageous. Clearly, this man intended to get all he could from the influx of adventurers that had happened into his bar. With a quick motion, Thistle set a coin on the bar, which the large man promptly scooped up.

“I was also hoping to find some lodging tonight,” Thistle added, taking a quick nip from the mug in front of him. It was tolerable; he’d have even thought it good, if not for years of drinking Grumph’s homebrews.

“Got two rooms left, going for twenty gold apiece,” the bartender informed him.

If getting back up wouldn’t have been such an issue, Thistle would have fallen out of his chair just to make a point. Twenty gold apiece was ludicrous, beyond mere gouging and well into outright theft. Before he could voice that opinion, Grumph set the mug he’d been draining on the table with an audible thud.

“Too weak,” Grumph announced, meeting the bartender’s immediately incredulous eyes. “Good process, poor ingredients. Where you get your hops?”

Thistle quickly noticed that Grumph had affected his “ignorant half-orc” speech pattern. It mostly consisted of growling at the end of sentences, and leaving out unimportant words. Base as it was, the tactic was effective for getting people to underestimate his intelligence. Plus, and Thistle hated to admit this, it would make Grumph less memorable, which was a big priority. Everyone expected half-orcs to be dumb, so this would make him as uninteresting as the tables or stools.

“I’ll have you know I buy my hops from one of the top Solium grain merchants and he sells me the Abstanial Silver,” the bartender announced proudly.

“No,” Grumph rumbled.

“No? ‘No’ what?”

“Abstanial Silver brew tart, but with undertone of pine. This have undertone of nut. It’s Grebthon Silver,” Grumph informed him. “Look almost the same. Yours have occasional veins of red in leaves?”

“Actually, yes,” the bartender admitted.

“Grebthon Silver. Abstanial has no veins. Merchant is cheating you.”

“That weasely little son of shit,” the bartender cursed. “I’m going to wring his neck next time I see him. You’re sure about this?”

Grumph nodded. “Had one try to pull same trick on me. Got good guy now, I’ll give you his name. Bartenders have to look out for one another.”

“Oh, you’re a bartender, too?” The man stuck his hand out to Grumph. “Bertrand, pleasure to meet you.”

“Grumph.” The handshake was delicate, since both were clearly strong men, and neither wished to hurt their new friend.

Thistle took the opportunity to slip quietly off his stool and make for the door, mumbling something about using the outhouse. Grumph was clearly working his own angle; Thistle’s presence would merely get in the way. Besides, he had to think of a new place for them to regroup. The last thing they needed right now was for someone to see all four of them together and realize that there were really eight parties here. Better to gather away from prying eyes.

Hopefully, in the meantime, Grumph would be able to get them some less exorbitant rates on a place to stay.

* * *

An hour later, Eric and Gabrielle were shown into the tavern’s backroom by one of the many waitresses. Grumph and Thistle were already there, working their way through bowls of stew that, after days of nothing but trail rations, may as well as have been made by the gods themselves.

Gabrielle let out a low whistle. “Hope you didn’t splurge too much on a private dining room. Those pelts didn’t fetch as much as we were hoping.”

“One gold,” Eric added, before anyone could ask. He set the single coin on the table to show the meager haul. “And that was with half an hour of haggling.”

“Merchant said they’re swamped with stuff. Evidently, there are a bunch of adventurers here, and they’ve been killing every wild beast for miles in their downtime. I thought he was blowing smoke until I saw the tavern,” Gabrielle explained. “By the way, why did that girl greet me as ‘the new applicant’?”

“I didn’t want to draw suspicion about you two following us to the back room,” Thistle explained. “Ostensibly, we’re back here so Grumph can pass on a few trade secrets to Bertrand, the bartender. In reality, their shared occupation and a few actual trade secrets got him to lease us one of the servant’s quarters for far less than the rooms upstairs.”

“How much did he want for an upstairs room?” Eric asked, looking around with a keen eye, noticing the sparse décor and old straw bundles.

“Twenty gold,” Grumph rumbled.

“Dragonshit,” Gabrielle snapped.

“Sit down, eat, and I’ll explain,” Thistle said, motioning to the table. The humans took the cue and sat, filling their bowls quickly. Once that was done, Thistle continued. “Evidently, the governor of Appleram noticed the high flow of adventurers heading to Solium over the last few weeks and decided to get his hands on a bit of their coin. He’s holding a tournament in two days, one with fairly respectable caches of gold as prizes. All these adventurers are here to compete, and, in the meantime, the town is bleeding them dry for every meal, night of sleep, and tool they purchase. I presume that’s why the tannery was overstocked; they’re trying to make enough coin to last until the tournament.”

“Smart,” Eric commented, tearing into a piece of overcooked chicken he spooned up from the stew. “Both he and you. Good way to make money, and since you managed to negotiate a decent rate, we can just hit the road again tomorrow.”

“Yes, about that. I said Grumph got us a better rate, not a good one,” Thistle clarified.

“How much do we have left?” Gabrielle asked.

“Well, as of right now,” Thistle said, picking up the coin from the table, “one gold.”

“WHAT!” The ferocity of Gabrielle’s yell was only matched by the strength in her grip as her hand grasped her axe. “That’s insane!”

“Calm down,” Grumph told her. “It’s a good deal.”

“How is that a good deal?”

“Because he easily could have made twenty times that and fully intended to,” Thistle told her. “He’s not likely to see a chance to make this kind of money again for years, if ever. Bertrand has done us a tremendous kindness by allowing us to stay here at such a paltry rate.”

“We could have slept outside,” Eric pointed out. “We’ve been doing it for days now.”

“There is a sizable flaw in that plan,” Thistle told him. “Right now, we have an exceptionally high concentration of adventurers. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that makes being outside of town. We’re lucky we arrived in the day, and that they’ve been going out to hunt, otherwise, we’d likely be dead already.”

Eric nodded. No one understood why, but the more adventurers were around, the greater the number of monsters that were drawn. It was like they grouped up in scale to the number of adventurers present to give a proper challenge.

“That’s it? You traded all our money for one night of lodging and a pot of stew?” Gabrielle asked, sitting back down. The flash of anger that had bubbled up had subsided, though she was surprised to have even felt it in the first place. She’d been raised to keep an even temper, as a proper lady should. These bursts of fury were a new, and not entirely welcome, occurrence.

“Don’t be silly. I traded it for three nights of lodging and three meals each day,” Thistle said.

“We’re not even going to be here three nights,” Eric pointed out.

“Actually, we are,” Thistle corrected him. “We can’t very well walk into Solium like this. No one would believe we beat a wild badger, let alone a kobold invasion. We require equipment that makes us look at least reasonably respectable, and for that, we’ll need money.”

“Money that you spent,” Gabrielle muttered.

“Money I invested. What we had wouldn’t have gotten us a decent buckler, let alone outfitted us all,” Thistle said. “No, we need to make some real coin, and fast. Which leaves us with only one viable option.”

“You have got to be joking,” Eric said, filling in the gaps before Thistle could say it.

“I am completely serious,” Thistle replied. “The four of us are entering Appleram’s tournament.”

10.

Thistle slurped down some stew while he waited for Eric and Gabrielle’s flurry of objections to die down. Even if he’d wanted to address them, there was no way he’d be able to with the speed at which they were speaking. Instead, he filled his belly and sat in silence until they realized he wasn’t going to speak until they ceased yelling. It took longer than he expected, which worked out well. He was still quite hungry, and it was impolite to eat when talking.

When silence finally reigned over the table once more, Thistle continued. “We don’t have an option. I know I said we should lay low here, but that was before I realized the situation. This is actually better. If we can put on a good showing at the tournament, it will lend our story credence, and if anyone from the kingdom does any investigating, they’ll hear about our party’s deeds in Appleram.”

“The keyword was
if
we put on a good showing,” Eric said. “Did you forget that we don’t have any idea what we’re doing?”

“No, I didn’t,” Thistle said. “But we do have some skills and two days to train. Plus, there are six events, and admission is free for one event per adventurer; no doubt a ploy by the mayor to keep people from thinking about how much their food and lodging is costing.”

“What are the events?” Gabrielle asked. This plan was crazy, but Thistle rarely did things without thinking them through. Besides, their whole idea had been crazy from the get-go. Why should this part be any different?

“Glad you asked,” Thistle said. “Six events are being held: Sword Fighting, Archery, Dagger Throwing, Feats of Strength, General Melee, and Magical Duels.”

“I would have expected a joust,” Eric commented.

“Not outside of a royal tournament. Most real adventurers aren’t that skilled in mounted combat.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about adventurers, Thistle,” Gabrielle said. There was no malice in her tone, no wheedling waves in her words, yet they still halted the conversation effectively.

Eric and Gabrielle, heck, all of Maplebark had known that Thistle’s past was more interesting than he let on. No one commented; no one probed. It was just one of those things. Strangely, the longer they wore the mantle of adventurers, the less normal “one of those things” seemed. The world didn’t make much sense, and like a lost man stumbling out of the fog, they were beginning to notice the details around them.

“Aye, that I do,” Thistle agreed. “And maybe I’ll tell you that story, one day, but it won’t be here, and it won’t be now. We’ve got more important things on our plate.”

“I apologize,” Gabrielle said, although this time, her tone made it clear that her words were only that: words.

“No need. It’s natural to be curious, but there is a time and place for such things.”

“Anyway, you were saying about the events?” Eric probed, eager to change the subject and ameliorate some of the tension in the room.

“Aye, the events. I’ve got a decent hand at throwing daggers, so I’ll enter that one. Eric, are you better with a sword, or a bow?”

“Sword,” Grumph grunted.

“He’s right,” Eric admitted. “Sword. When I was trying to learn the bow, I broke three of the windows on Grumph’s tavern.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Thistle noted.

“Not really. I was aiming for a target in the grove of trees off to the side.”

Thistle knew the forest Eric was speaking of. It was nowhere near Grumph’s windows.

“Sword it is,” Thistle announced.

“I don’t have my armor.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be using wooden tourney swords,” Thistle assured him. “Besides, I think you’re better off without it.”

Eric couldn’t argue with that logic, so instead, he merely gave a nod and turned his attention toward his meal.

“Next up: Grumph. I daresay you’ve got a real shot at winning the Feats of Strength event, old friend.”

“True,” Grumph agreed. “But I’m in Magical Duels.”

“Come on, Grumph, do the one you can win. We need the money,” Gabrielle wheedled.

“We
need
practice,” Grumph countered, his thick, rumbling voice moving far more fluidly than it did around those he didn’t trust. “Experience is worth more than gold.”

“Very well, then. Grumph is doing the Magical Duels,” Thistle said. He personally agreed with Gabrielle, however, he knew Grumph well enough to understand that when the half-orc was set on something, it would take an act of the gods to deter him. “Gabby, that just leaves you.”

“I might be able to do okay at archery,” she replied. “I was decent at it. Not great, but decent.”

“General Melee,” Grumph said.

“I hate to say it, but I agree with Grumph,” Eric added, before Gabrielle’s mouth could voice the objection she clearly felt. “He’s right, we do need the practice. When are you going to get the chance to fight seasoned warriors without risking getting killed? Plus, I’ve seen you shoot a bow. You’re better than I am, but that’s not saying much. Do the event where you’ll at least learn something.”

“Gabby, to be clear, General Melee will use wooden weaponry as well; however, they will still be swung hard, and broken bones are not unheard of,” Thistle told her. “I won’t ask you to register in an event you’re uncomfortable with. If you say Archery, then it’s Archery. The choice is yours.”