by Drew Hayes
“I suppose one night couldn’t hurt,” Thistle said.
“Glad to hear you’re on board.” Elora twirled the dark key around in her hand three times, then caught it with a flourish. “Now, let’s go see what Holdram went to so much trouble to lock away.”
* * *
The three figures moved quickly and quietly through the newly-fallen night. In a city this size, they blended in seamlessly, leaving no lasting impression in anyone’s mind. They were all but impossible to notice unless one happened to be on the lookout for them. As the trio moved closer to the temple of Grumble, they caught sight of a small figure in a cloak making its way to the minion god’s place of worship. Fortune seemed to be smiling on them; they’d only just arrived, and already their night’s harvest was in reach. If their luck held, they could be back at the tavern before their seats even grew cold.
Moving swiftly, the leader of their group rushed ahead, forgoing stealth for speed. It wasn’t as though some kobold’s tiny legs would be able to run fast enough to get away. But as he arrived at the target and swung, it rolled to the side, as if it had been expecting the blow. When it came up, he saw he was not looking at a kobold or goblin, but rather at the round, smiling face of a female gnome.
“I’d say that’s all the confirmation we need that these are our people,” she declared. From under her cloak, she pulled something that looked like a crossbow with all manner of strange mechanical components added to the core design.
The leader darted back; he’d been in enough battles to have crossed swords with a gadgeteer before. Though physically weak, their creations were always unpredictable and as varied as the warped minds that made them. It was best to withdraw until he knew what that crossbow could do. Or, perhaps, to trick one of the others into finding out for him. He gave a sharp whistle, their signal to converge on a target, and waited for the other two to get into position.
Instead, he heard a small explosion from behind, followed by a lot of cursing. Chancing a look over his shoulder, the mercenary leader caught sight of his peons dancing in the darkness as they struggled to smother the patches of their clothes that had caught fire. With no attackers nearby, his eyes darted to the roofline, where—sure enough—he saw a woman in mage’s robes, ethereal light glowing in her hands as she wove another spell of magic.
A gadgeteer was one thing; gnomes weren’t unheard of among Grumble’s worshippers. But combine the small woman’s words with a mage on a nearby rooftop and the whole thing screamed ambush. It had always technically been a possibility—one couldn’t hunt the same grounds so often without becoming predictable—he’d just never imagined the minions would work up the nerve. It did change things, though only slightly. If his options were letting a mage pick him off with spells or risking some unknown device, the smarter call was to rush the gnome. So long as he wasn’t taken down by the odd crossbow, he stood a strong chance of getting her as a hostage. That should enable at least him to escape, if not the others.
Bolting forward, he ran as fast as he could to close the gap between himself and the gnome, one he hadn’t even realized she’d been steadily widening. She raised her device to take aim, but he was gaining fast. At most, she’d get off one shot, and then he’d be upon her.
“Gelthorn, a little help!”
The gnome’s voice echoed through the near-empty street. No doubt, she was calling on the mage for help—not that it would matter. There was zero chance she’d be able to cast in time to stop him. Everyone knew magic took time; it wasn’t like shooting an—
“Grauh!” The grunt of pain slid past his lips as the first arrow struck him in his right knee. Where had it come from? He hadn’t seen the device fire, and there was no chance the mage had had time to switch weapons. Another arrow caught him in his left shoulder, and this time he could make out the nearly unseen form of a figure on another rooftop, a large bow gripped in its hands.
“Thanks!” The gnome cheerily announced her appreciation, then took aim and fired her crossbow. The mercenary leader tensed for impact, but he wasn’t the target. The shot zoomed past him and to the left, a strange projectile that looked to be half made of ropes. Another grunt and the sound of falling as one of his men was hit. Two of them were down then; the other would likely try to flee. While things appeared grim, the leader remained calm. This wasn’t his first time in a fight for survival, and he knew enough to keep a few tools on hand for just such an occasion.
While one hand grabbed the arrows and ripped them free, the other plunged into his pocket and produced a vial full of red liquid. Potions always seemed overpriced until one actually needed them. Only then did it become clear how much life was truly worth when compared to a few gold. As he drank, the wounds in his shoulder and knee repaired themselves. He wasn’t exactly good as new, but he also wasn’t helpless on the ground either.
Leaping to his feet, he quickly surveyed the battlefield. Both peons were still there, one patting out the last of the flames, one struggling to get free from the tangle of ropes wrapped around him. Meanwhile, the gnome was struggling to reload her crossbow-device, and the mage was mid-cast on another spell. Perhaps all wasn’t quite lost. If they could get away, they’d be able to recover, maybe even sneak around on the mage and archer firing from the rooftops.
“Any day now,” the gnome called, and the mercenary whirled around, ready for more spells or arrows. Instead, he heard another voice, the first to speak aside from the gnome. It came from the end of the street, the very area that he would have used to flee moments earlier.
“Sorry. You all made me keep my distance, and armor is hard to run in.” Down the street, sword and shield in hand, stood a figure in gleaming armor. To the uninitiated, he might have come off as a knight. But for anyone who’d seen genuine battle, his true nature was unmistakable. There was just something about paladins, the way the air around them seemed heavier, how the gleam of their armor was always just a touch too bright. Once he’d dealt with one, traded blows with one, the mercenary knew he’d never mistake such a person for anything else.
“Jerks who beat up minions, meet Timanuel the paladin,” the gnome said, even as she rapidly moved out of range. “He’s got some pretty specific thoughts on those who assault innocent people just trying to pray to their god.”
A reloading gadgeteer to the rear, a mage and archer on the roof, and now a paladin blocking the exit. As he drew his blade and prepared for the very real possibility of death, the mercenary had only a single regret.
They should have demanded more money for this job. That asshole in the cloak sure seemed like he’d had it.
* * *
“What do you think is inside?” Eric stood near Elora, the only one permitted to be close as she checked the door over for potential traps. While it didn’t seem likely that Holdram would have booby-trapped his own door, Elora insisted that they be thorough. A complacent rogue was a dead rogue, as she put it, and after seeing her use sleight of hand and distraction to defeat a stronger opponent, Eric certainly wasn’t going to debate the issue.
Farther back, the others were waiting, a task which mercifully gave them the chance to sit around and rest their weary bodies. Personally, Eric was really hoping there were some healing potions inside, even though he knew it was a long shot. If their enemies had access to such tools, they’d certainly have used them. Still, it would be nice if they didn’t have to rely on Thistle to patch them all up. That would certainly take more than one day’s worth of magic could handle.
“Smart gold says it’s more equipment, though nothing as good as what Holdram was wearing,” Elora replied. “From the way he said it, I got the feeling he was planning to make some serious moves in order to get himself a foothold in Camnarael. That means taking on the shadows already lurking there, and for that, he’d need weapons and armor.”
“I overheard some of that. Do you think what he said was true? That he did all of this at Tristan’s request?” Eric asked.
“He sure believed it.” Elo
ra ran her hands carefully along every aspect of the mechanism, feeling for any irregularities or other telltale signs that all was not as it seemed. “Whether he just had a realistic dream or Tristan actually appeared to him is anyone’s guess. I wouldn’t put it past the god of the rogues, though. He’s never been one to let his followers get complacent. An attempted coup would be just the sort of thing to liven up the capital. If Holdram succeeded, he’d explore new money-making methods and strategies that we wouldn’t have. And if Holdram failed, we’d be reminded that anyone can be overthrown, which would make us step things up. Either way, the rogues are stronger for it.”
“And I thought Grumble was heartless,” Eric muttered. “Speaking of which, what was all that about an artifact inside the temple?”
“Yeah, I wanted to ask about that, but when things became life or death, it sort of slipped my mind. Something tells me the paladin could fill us in, though whether he’s willing to or not is a whole other story.” Elora finished her search and took a step back from the wall-sized door. The next time she spoke, it was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Well, if this thing is going to kill us, it’s too well-made for me to detect. Which either means it’s safe, or we’re screwed.”
“You could always not open it,” Thistle suggested. He and the others began to move closer. Eric waited for Elora to object, to tell them that it was smarter to stay back until the door was opened, but she said nothing. Instead, she merely pulled out the key and studied it once more.
“A cute idea, but you clearly haven’t figured me out if you think I can turn away from an unopened door,” she told him. “I’ll wait until anyone who feels like fleeing gets topside, though.”
“Seems like a big risk to take for someone who thinks there’s nothing but lesser equipment inside,” Gabrielle said.
“What I think is irrelevant,” Elora replied. “The fun of a mystery is in the unraveling. If I could resist that impulse, I wouldn’t have become a rogue in the first place. Besides, as things stand, you all need a lot of gold as quickly as possible. Lesser equipment still sells, so you need this door open as much as I do.”
“Then make it so.” Grumph had regained the ability to stand without leaning in the last half hour, but he still wobbled a touch as he spoke.
Taking Grumph’s words as a cue to end the debate, Elora slipped the key into its hole and turned. After one rotation, it stopped, and the sound of something grinding filled the air. Slowly, the wall parted down a previously invisible seam near the center and slowly swung open. There was no light inside; however, the flickering lanterns along the wall were more than enough to illuminate what resided within. Especially given how shiny it all was.
Gold. More than Eric had ever seen in his life, more than he likely could have imagined during his days as a barely-passable guard living with his mother. It filled the room, organized into a half dozen open chests that all twinkled in the firelight. He was speechless as he took the sight in, unable to count, to even think or act beyond goggling at the awe-inspiring sight before them. Even Elora’s next words were soft, a scarce whisper, as if she were afraid of scaring the fortune away.
“And this, Thistle, is why you always open the door.”
Chapter 35
“A lousy three hundred gold? But we killed so many of those birds,” Terry protested. “Like, at least twenty.”
“Which is why your reward is reduced,” Jamie replied, as unflappable as ever. “As the quest-giver told you, it was only the red-beaked flutterows that were causing the farmer’s trouble. The blue-beaked ones, which accounted for seventeen of your twenty kills, were a natural part of the ecosystem. Your indiscriminate slaughter gained no reward, and honestly, has probably ensured that the whole community is in for a rough couple of years in terms of their farming.”
Mitch fought the urge to grind his teeth. He wanted to fight with her, to say that they hadn’t been told that, but if he did, she’d just pull out the module and point to the section she’d read verbatim before they took the quest. Most GMs would cave a little after enough complaining—to move things along, if nothing else. Jamie, however, had proven herself unmovable. She was like a smiling, infinitely patient wall. No matter how he came at her, she just refused to bend. He’d contemplated going for the big move and threatening to walk away from the game, but nothing had quite been worth that tactic yet. And—if he were being truthful with himself—Mitch might have admitted the possibility that he was afraid she would call his bluff. If that happened, he’d be screwed. Either he had to actually walk away from the game or sit back down and forfeit any leverage he might have had. Best to save the gambit for when the stakes really mattered. In the meantime, he’d just have to think outside the box.
“Look, these bird corpses are pretty rare, right? We had to spend days hunting them down. Even if there’s no quest reward for the blue-beaked ones, I bet we can still find someone in the merchant district who can use them. Maybe they’re a delicacy or useful for spell components. Nothing this rare is ever totally worthless.”
“Mitch is right. I’m sure we can even put a little fear into the shopkeepers to get the maximum payout,” Glenn added.
“The corpses are yours. What you choose to do with them is entirely in your hands,” Jamie told them. “But would you like to hand over the three red-billed ones to Sylan, your clerk, or not?”
“A hundred per body is a good price,” Mitch said. “We cash them in.”
Jamie made some unseen notes behind her screen then looked back at them. “Sylan takes the corpses and hands you back a slip confirming the increase in your funds.”
“I wish they just handed us the gold,” Terry said.
“Fuck that, you want some asshole pickpocket to make off with a whole quest’s worth of work?” Glenn shot back. “This is way easier; plus, we don’t have to deal with the weight of it on our character sheets.”
“I take the slip,” Mitch told Jamie, determined to keep them on task. The in-game days before the Grand Quest were slipping by; they needed all the cash they could get. “And I’m going to ask about what tasks are currently available.”
Jamie flipped a page and studied it carefully. “Just as you go to ask, a dwarf comes up to your clerk and whispers something in his ear. Sylan bows and apologizes to you, then excuses himself saying that another matter has come up. In his place, a gnome appears, pulling out a scroll with the latest quests they recommend for you.”
“A shift-change? This module gets really weird with the details sometimes,” Terry noted.
“Who gives a shit? They can add all the stupid details and flavor they want. We just need a new quest. Something that really pays, this time,” Mitch said. “Tell us what’s up for grabs.”
* * *
Sylan didn’t faint at the sight, but it was touch and go for a few seconds. While he hadn’t quite known why Thurm had called him into a back room, Sylan certainly hadn’t expected to see a group of adventurers standing there, saddlebags filled to the brim with gold coins and a pair of clearly magically-enhanced sacks spilling countless more onto the ground. There was so much of it, and it made no sense at all. Sylan was almost positive that this group had taken a quest to help out the church of Grumble. How had they come into so much money on that meager task?
“By the rules of the Hall of Adventurers, I am required to have a witness on hand when taking accountability for this much gold,” Thurm said. “Since you were the one to give them this quest, Sylan, you will fulfill that role. We will all stay in here until every coin is counted. Now, for holding coins that were not awarded as part of a quest, the Hall charges a one percent tax or a flat hundred gold fee, whichever is larger. In this case, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s the tax.”
“We’ll pay it happily,” said the gnome in armor. Thistle, his name was. Sylan remembered him, albeit last time, he hadn’t had armor. It was rare to see a gnome with such crooked bones, but even rarer to see one acting as the leader of their party. That sor
t of thing tended to stick out in one’s mind.
“Hauling all of this was no small feat. I’ll be glad when it’s out of our hands,” Thistle continued.
“Just remember that a sixth goes into my account.” Sylan didn’t need to rack his brain to identify the speaker this time. Elora, like many of the less-savory types, was known to the clerks of the Hall. They often kept accounts here specifically so that those they associated themselves with couldn’t rob them blind.
“Aye, have no fear, you more than earned your share. If not with the battle, then certainly in allowing us to use those enchanted bags of yours for transportation,” Thistle told her. “And, good clerk, I am also happy to announce that we’ve completed the quest we were given. I would like to have the reward that was offered returned to the temple, however. Tell them it’s a tithe, if Ulkin tries to refuse. Let him know I’m going to stop by and explain in person later, but there are some tasks we need to see to first.”
“I shall pass the message along,” Sylan replied dutifully. “What am I to tell him was the cause, if he asks?”
Thistle frowned slightly. “An attempt to empty the temple of its faithful. Let him know I’ll explain the rest when we speak one-on-one. But let him know that the threat has passed. Or, at the very least, if there are any that remain who bear the temple ill-will, they won’t be able to afford mercenaries quite so easily anymore.”
The gnome had a talent for understatement; it looked like his party had bankrupted a modestly-sized town to walk away with this kind of gold. Dealing with adventurers, Sylan was accustomed to seeing tremendous wealth, but it was almost always in the form of goods. Enchanted armors, magical staffs, gems worth more than entire shops’ inventories; never had he laid eyes on anything as immediately spendable as the piles of gold before him. Sylan could see why the rules demanded two employees be present to act as witness—dealing with this much money could make one take stupid actions, if they believed they could away with it.