by Daniel Heck
At the very moment when he has drawn back as far as possible, the dove you’d disturbed earlier—at least, you think it’s the same one—swoops past the elf within inches of his face. He instinctively swats at it, losing his grip, and the nocked arrow releases, sailing completely wide of the target.
The crowd gasps. The elf glares at the barker.
“I’m afraid,” he replies in a sheepish tone, “that we’re going to have to count that.”
You reel in amazement.
By the gods… you think, Divine providence is with me after all!
Nevertheless, the margin is such that you need to make a decision, while accounting for how the targets have now been moved to their farthest point from where you stand. If you make even a decent final shot at a moving target, you’ll really put the pressure on your opponent to do the same and do it well. On the other hand, firing at the stationary target would be a surer bet when it comes to your own accuracy, but gives the elf a little leeway.
How do you proceed?
I shoot at the moving target.
I shoot at the stationary target.
You ask, “Where may we find you later, should we ascertain the fee in the meantime?”
Stephano replies, “I shall be browsing at the armorsmith’s midday tomorrow.” You nod. He mounts and flies away.
Sleep comes quickly, and lasts longer than you’d expected. The next morning, as the midday sun has almost climbed to its highest point, a whim of adventure conquers your spirit and drives you forward.
You meet your love in the center of town. “Let’s see how the art of the lance treats us this day,” you propose.
“But…” Titania objects, “You’ve never jousted in your life.” She scratches her head.
“Do you trust that I’ll do my best?”
“I have all the faith in the world in you,” she says warmly, “It’s just that…”
“I am aware of the need to win,” you interrupt, “and the consequences of failure.”
Titania nods and smiles. She grips your hand. “Just… don’t get yourself hurt.”
Together you stroll toward the northeast corner of the square, holding hands the entire time. There, young handlers decorate several steeds with colored banners. The vivid red and blue complement the horses’ reflective barding.
Among all this, a lithe man in a leather vest and knickers shouts orders while having trouble keeping a scroll from closing in upon itself. He pulls aside bystander after bystander and mumbles something to each, only to watch them all continue about their business. You approach, and volunteer.
“Thank goodness,” the coordinator replies, “I was beginning to think we wouldn’t have a contest at all.”
“How many entrants do you have?”
“Two, now.” He jots a gigantic ‘B’ down, sufficing to represent your name. You cross your arms and glare at the scroll.
Titania nudges you. “This shouldn’t be too hard, then, eh?”
“It’s the first year we’ve held this contest,” the man continues, “And will be the last. I tried to tell my superiors that the common townsfolk view jousting as above their heads, but no….”
You and Titania exchange glances.
“Anyway, it’s time to suit up. Head this way.”
Helpers lead you to a clearing and outfit you with armor stuffier than you thought existed. At one point, a rusty vambrace edge scratches your arm, and although the wound draws no blood, you ponder its significance as a possible omen. With help, you mount a house, then strap onto the same arm a shield emblazoned with red and white. Having a weapon shoved in your face caps the whole ordeal; the lance, pleasantly, doesn’t weigh that much, but its unwieldy length gives credence to Titania’s initial doubts.
What have I done?
You steel your heart, lower your visor and ride back into the open.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the coordinator shouts, “Thank you all for coming. Two brave mystery opponents face each other today in a test of strength, an assessment of agility and a battle of pure bravado. You shall witness nothing short of the most exciting joust this side of Fort Remnon!”
You hear a smattering of applause as a handler leads you toward several flags and posts denoting the jousting track. Your limited peripheral vision prevents you from seeing just how many (or few) people bothered to come watch.
“Go, go, go!” Titania hollers, “You can do it!”
You glance about, and notice a horse, carrying a comparably armored jouster, ahead of you and on the opposite site of a short fence. You can’t see that rider’s eyes, yet something tells you they’re trained exclusively on you.
The coordinator continues, “The winner, who shall receive precisely one hundred gold pieces, shall be the knight who has accumulated more points after three rounds. Simple contact with the opponent’s shield shall be awarded one point. Disarming the opponent or shattering one’s lance shall be awarded two points. A complete unseat is worth the most, at five points.”
You steer your mount toward the starting line and aim your lance forward, as beads of sweat accumulate in your brow. The moment stretches on forever.
“Are the riders ready?”
You raise your shield, a gesture your opponent echoes in silence.
“Joust!”
With a fervent kick upon your horse’s flank, you charge. The hoofbeats of both mounts rumble in time with the heartbeat of the earth itself, and a handful of onlookers whoop in excitement. The opponent grows larger within your limited range of view. You strike forward with all your might, and…
Crash!
Your shielded arm wrenches backwards, nearly throwing you to the ground. By a miracle of reflexes, you regain your balance while pulling on the reins with your opposite hand.
“That’s one point for our knight in blue!”
Applause rings out, although you think you hear among it a groan of disappointment. Standing tall in the saddle, your opponent waves you toward him in a tauntful beckon. You flex your shoulders, adjust your helmet and tell yourself to shake it off.
This is far from over.
You line up at the guardrail once more. For as little as has happened, an astonishing amount of fatigue already weighs you down and tightens your muscles. Your horse drags a hoof in the dirt, hesitating.
“Round number two! Are the riders ready?”
The opponent raises his shield. You slowly follow suit.
“Joust!”
You charge once again. This time, you make contact first, but you may as well have run headlong into a brick wall. The opponent’s shield barely bounces, instead propelling the force backwards into your lance; you drop it and hold your wrist in pain.
“Disarm!” shouts the coordinator, “Two more points for blue.”
The opponent pumps a fist and pounds his chest. The display of arrogance and pride would sicken you, if you weren’t so concerned with another detail.
“But,” you shout back, “did I not strike his shield? Is that not worth a point in its own right?”
At the sound of your voice, the opposing knight stops gallivanting, and turns toward you, head slightly atilt.
“Only the knight that lands the better blow receives points for a round,” replies the coordinator. Murmurs and chatter arise from the crowd.
It would have been nice, you grouse to yourself, to know that earlier!
Despite screams from within your soul urging you to concede, you line up for a third time. Your heavy breaths betray weakness, by which you assume your opponent will relish victory that much more.
“Are the riders ready?”
You raise your shield. The opponent nods.
“Joust!”
The final round goes by in a flash, but while trying to gauge your opponent’s positioning, it seems for a moment that his horse charges much more slowly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear he moved his shield to purposely avoid your strike.
Having charged well past the point of imp
act and heard several gasps from onlookers, you steer your mount in a circle, and gasp yourself when you realize that the other knight lay prone in the dirt. His armor clanks as he struggles to get up, so you take his hand and help him.
“Unseat! With a total of five points, red wins!”
The opposing knight embraces you, backs up a foot or so, and removes his helmet. You stand for a moment, stunned.
“I’d say it’s funny running into you here, but…”
Before you stands Laurassa, cheeks red and hair disheveled. She smiles.
Your jaw drops, and you blink with force. “You didn’t just…”
“For you, bro. Shall we leave it at that?”
The crowd awards you both a rousing round of cheers. The coordinator breaks up the scene, shoves a bag full of clinking coins in your hands, and moves on to attend other business in another area of the festival.
Titania darts toward you, her face flush with glee. “I knew you could do it!”
“Certainly you did,” you reply, chuckling a bit at your own sarcasm. “While I have you both here, I’d like you to meet someone. Titania, this is my sister, Lau…”
You turn as you speak, only to find that Laurassa is no longer there. You scratch your head.
“How odd.”
“Meet whom?”
“It… matters not,” you stammer. “Let’s find Stephano, hopefully where he said he’d be.”
You proceed to the armorer’s shop, where you push through throngs of random customers and gawkers to where the paladin negotiates loudly. You tap on his shoulder and show him the gold.
He nods and sets a suit of chainmail down on the counter.
“This…” he booms with a sly grin, “shall have to wait.”
Moving forward…
You push yourself through the oak’s trunk and feel a weird twisting of your body in the process, but the feeling fades quickly. Darlayne and Titania follow with little difficulty. The floor beneath you has changed drastically compared to the outside; it’s now made of stone, with no plant life anywhere to be seen.
A dark passage lay ahead.
With a wordless glance at the tracker, you take the lead.
As you traverse the passage, swaths of chalky pebbles shift underneath you at each twist and turn. The humidity sticks to your skin, and your lungs feel like they draw in soup instead of air.
Darlayne remarks, “Not exactly my idea of divine. I’d just as soon get lost in a good book.”
“So far, I doubt the stories told here are much to speak of,” you add, “but perhaps there is more than meets the eye.”
Titania turns abruptly and says, “Speaking of which…” She stares at a flat section of wall, which looks out of place among the rough, naturally-formed pathway.
You follow it into a chamber about twenty-five feet square, lined by neatly-cut stone that emits a faint glow. In the far wall are three archways, each of which leads to an additional small chamber. As you look about, you notice three square-shaped indentations, one above each entrance.
“What the…?”
Also, a dusty inscription in gold lettering stretches above all the entrances:
Let your talents shine, and unlock the code!
“Well…” you say, nonplussed.
Finally, you notice a shiny metal door in the left wall, which you immediately check.
“It’s locked,” you note, “but it sure looks like it’s the way we need to get through.”
Titania scratches her head. “Shall we look around?”
“That seems prudent.”
Titania leads your group into the leftmost chamber. While its craftsmanship matches that of the lead-in, it seems otherwise unadorned, until you reach a statue built into the far wall. Made of ancient limestone, the statue depicts an armored dwarven warrior in profile, posed on one knee and with a shield on its back. Its left hand grips its right arm, and the face displays a pained expression.
Your party ponders this for a moment, then returns to the main chamber.
As you approach the middle offshoot, strange skittering sounds meet your ears. A gaggle of tiny goblins, even smaller than the ones you’ve seen in monster arcana, reside within. They struggle with a collection of wooden blocks of various shapes, and as you watch, one or two occasionally point to a square-shaped hole in the wall.
“Oh my goodness…” Darlayne says. “They’re… almost cute.”
“One more to go…”
The instant you step into the right-most chamber, your heart nearly explodes from within you as a gargantuan bear claw swipes at you, missing your face by millimeters. You back down, holding your arms out to contain the rest of your party. You can’t tell how you possibly missed the rest of the bear earlier, but relief washes over you as you notice that a strong manacle and chain secure its ankle to the back wall.
It stands on all fours, growling and writhing against its restraint.
“Let’s just… take a moment,” you say. You return to the main chamber.
“Look,” Titania says, “The writing’s changed.”
Indeed, somehow, the phrase above the archways now reads:
One per chamber, please.
Darlayne digs her fists into her hips. “Who do they think they are?”
“The question is,” you say, “What now?”
What do you do?
We investigate the statue.
We address the goblins.
We get the bear over with.
If we’re going into the desert, you reflect the following morn, we had best be prepared.
You lead Titania to the local tailor, where you rent some light long-sleeved clothing. A jaunt to the nearby supplier ensures that you’ll carry enough water (four skins in total), but a significant quandary remains:
“These nomads are obviously wanderers,” you comment, “so we may have to get some help just to find them.”
Titania nods in somber acceptance.
You trek to the western gates and speak for some time with the guards, who have heard only rumors. Those rumors, however, imply that the people in question usually come into the capital for a brief time during the hottest months, but for some unknown reason, no one has seen them this year.
You arch an eyebrow, and ask, “Could the authorities know what happened? Might there have been a conflict of some sort?”
The guards shake their heads, certain that they would have been informed.
“What other details should we know?”
“Just look for their beige robes, and don’t let the mirages fool you. My guess is that they’ve holed up in or near the dunes by Fort Remnon, anyway.”
You nod in thanks.
As you travel, the clouds gather just tightly enough to block out the intense sun, then start to disperse the further west you go. As the path takes a major bend, it fades into the earth, becoming softer and more natural. Your footfalls betray an eerie silence, and at one point just before dusk, you glance upward to see a flock of turkey buzzards circling, watchful.
Just after reaching the apex of a steep dune, an unusual sight surprises you. Far ahead stand two doglike gnolls, who appear to be locked in some sort of silent communication; you hear none of the barking or growling you’d expect. Each sports a light-colored robe and holds a gnarled staff.
“Those creatures ahead,” you whisper, “They’re wearing the robes we were told about!”
“Might they have stolen them from the nomads?” Titania asks.
What do you do?
We attack the gnolls, hoping to capture and interrogate at least one.
We try to communicate with them in a friendly manner.
We observe them from a distance for a while longer.
Considering Titania’s feelings about this possible interloper, no matter how irrational they may be, you decide that this is the farthest that the tracker gets to come along.
“Darlayne,” you say, “We have one final need to ask of you. Where can we find this Divine Lab
yrinth?”
“An entrance lies within a specific oak about seven leagues due north of town. Look for a tremendous tree with one side that appears unnaturally flat. It’s illusory; you can walk right through it.”
You nod in thanks. “Your help has been extremely valuable. We believe that we can take it from here.”
She puts a hand on her hip and pouts, “Well, if you insist. T’was a pleasure, for as long as it lasted.” With a sigh, she turns and heads back toward town.
You pause before asking Titania, “Happy?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Happier.”
“Seven leagues would take us the rest of the day on foot,” you postulate, “Shall we hire some transportation?”
The two of you head in the direction of the town stables. Despite a throng of townsfolk surrounding them, the horses’ docking stations seem sparsely populated. As you scratch the forehead of a handsomely mottled stallion, you notice the stablemaster approach out of the corner of your eye.
“Greetings,” he says. Slight in stature but bright-eyed, the man speaks with a humble, country-ish lilt.
“Good afternoon, Matthias,” Titania responds, “We are interested in renting a pair of horses.”
Matthias nods eagerly. “That can most certainly be arranged.” He starts to gather bridles and feed, then hesitates. “As you are aware, Miss Vermouth,” he says, “I don’t normally like to pry into other people’s business, but, if I may be so bold as to ask, where would you and mister Bartleby be headed this fine day?”