by Drew Hayes
“Timuscor, you know you aren’t a paladin, right? You’re allowed to be selfish, to seek glory, to feel some debt from the person whose life you laid yours down for.”
“I know better than anyone—better than the gods, even—that I am not a paladin, yet,” Timuscor said. “But if I don’t try to walk the path of one, I don’t think I’ll ever find my way to that goal.”
Ignoring her touch, he grabbed the knob and yanked the door open, revealing his friends standing in the afternoon sun. Timuscor didn’t care about blood debts or rewards, or even if others thought him mad for chasing the elusive mantle of paladinhood after so many failures already. All he cared about, all he needed, was to know that the people close to him were safe. That was more than enough cause to lay down his life as many times as needed.
Timuscor understood that he would never have a mind as quick as Thistle’s, or as wily as a rogue’s, but on that point, he knew beyond question that he was right.
Chapter 38
Versatility over power was well and good for rogues. Hell, it was probably smart advice for wizards like Grumph too, and certainly a solid idea for paladins. Even a knight, working as both sword and shield, could benefit from the advice. But Gabrielle was none of those things. She was a barbarian, a warrior who existed on the battlefield solely to tear apart her enemies. That was how she justified considering the mind-melting amount of gold she’d have to spend for the necklace on display.
This was no minor accoutrement; the clerk had allowed her to hold it for a moment in order to experience its power, and Gabrielle’s muscles were tingling even after letting it go. The enchantment on that necklace was potent, designed to augment the strength of any wearer well past their normal limits. Raw, physical force; it was pretty much the exact opposite of what Elora had advised them to purchase. And yet, even as Gabrielle turned away to scan the inventory, there was little else she could see that held her attention as much.
Thistle was examining a simple pair of boots, which Gabrielle thought was curious until she overhead a snippet of the conversation between him and the clerk. Evidently, these were blessed by the winds, allowing the wearer to move at swift speeds over all manner of terrain. For the gnome who was always lagging behind, Gabrielle could instantly see the appeal, and she had no doubt that a portion of his gold would end up spent on those boots.
Grumph had been browsing wands and staffs, which certainly made sense. Those were more than just fashion statements mages enjoyed; they could also function as mana repositories or spell augmentation tools, depending on the version. She knew Grumph would never truly cast aside his blade, yet the fact remained that if Grumph wanted to function as the party’s wizard, he’d need every aid he could afford.
For his part, Timuscor seemed taken by a belt that promised to make the wearer hardier and healthier. Given how close he’d just come to being with the gods, Gabrielle could hardly fault him for being interested in that investment. Depending on how things shook out with her necklace, she might be tempted to pick one up as well. Their knight was keeping a curious distance from Elora, who in turn kept shooting the occasional glance at him. No one knew exactly what had gone on in Driscol’s shop after they left, but none of them were foolish enough to believe it was really some business about a sheath.
True to her word, Elora was with the shopkeeper, going through the list of provisions that she’d deemed necessary. From what Gabrielle could understand, most of them seemed rather useful: bags to haul their equipment and gold would make travel much easier. Potions were certainly handy, even if the prices were stiff. Although she still didn’t completely understand what a warding stone would do, it sounded as though it would help them get rest in the evenings, and that was a plan Gabrielle could get behind. The other things—cloaks, saddles, and headbands, to name a few—didn’t make much sense to her, but they’d decided to trust Elora, so there was no point in second-guessing her now.
“Looks like we’re square,” Elora said at last, walking over to the group. “I divided the cost of the essentials by five, which will be added to your bill when you get the rest of your purchases, but I thought you’d like to know how much to deduct from your finances.” She held out a scrap of parchment with dozens of numbers written and crossed out on it, one final number circled at the bottom.
“You spent five thousand gold already?” Gabrielle wasn’t sure how she kept from shouting the number—probably it was her incapability to grasp how something Elora considered to be “basic equipment” could cost that much.
“No, don’t be ludicrous. I spent twenty-five thousand. Five thousand is how much it will cost each one of you.” Elora calmly folded the paper and tucked it into one of her pockets. “Did you think I was exaggerating about how much magic costs? You all needed a lot, too. If you disagree with my recommendations, feel free to take anything off the tab that you like. Just don’t be surprised when you suddenly find yourself in trouble on the first day of the Grand Quest.”
“Can you at least elaborate on some of the purchases?” Thistle asked, keeping a much calmer tone than Gabrielle had managed.
“Happily. Aside from the items we already discussed, I got you cloaks that offer some protection against the elements, in case you hit less favorable climates. There are also four headbands of dark-sight, in case you have any more nighttime or underground fights. Saddles to make your steeds run faster, so you can cover ground more easily. A water skin that can produce enough to fill a small barrel every day, in case you can’t find water, and a sack of apples that magically refills every sunrise in case you need food. Do you want me to keep going?”
“No, I think you’ve made your point. We might not necessarily need all of it right away, but we’ll be sorely bothered by any situation where we do need such items and don’t have them.” Thistle ticked off a few calculations on his fingers. “On the upside, it seems I still have enough in my own coffers to afford the boots. Grumph, no more carrying me around, it seems. Please make an effort to contain your disappointment.”
“I’ll try,” Grumph said. He’d already wandered partway back to the wands and staffs, looking at them with a new eye now that he knew his budget.
Five thousand was a lot of gold apiece, cutting well into what they’d gotten for each person’s share of the treasure. Still, it wasn’t as though it was enough to bankrupt them. When the gold was tallied and most of the goods from the mercenaries sold off, the share for each person had come out to fourteen thousand gold and some change. At the time, Gabrielle couldn’t have imagined she’d ever need more than that, yet after only few minutes in this shop of wonders, she could see easily spending it all in a day. How much did the more experienced adventurers have? The ones who climbed the Hall’s staircase reserved for the legendary must be worth hundreds of thousands, if not millions, in their equipment alone. The scale of value was so divorced from what she’d known in Maplebark that it was hard to even comprehend. By the standards of that town, she’d grown up wealthy. To an adventurer, the entire sum of her family’s worth might be seen as a few paltry magical items.
For the first time, Gabrielle was beginning to understand what called people to this line of work. She and the others had taken it up out of necessity, to keep their home safe. And then they’d found themselves taken in by the life adventuring provided, spurred on by the fact that they couldn’t go back. But she’d never fathomed why someone rational, with other options, would ever start down such a path. Wealth beyond measure was certainly a fine incentive, to say nothing of the chance to see the world, wield magical artifacts, and grow more powerful than a normal life would ever allow.
Between spending a life working some mundane job, knowing a monster or bandit could come along and kill her anyway, or risking her blood for fortune and glory, Gabrielle could imagine more than a few people taking the second option. It was a hard world, and death was always possible. Better to swing the blade of one’s life hard and wide in hopes of striking greatness.
Sh
e examined the necklace once more, mentally subtracting five thousand gold from her funds. That still left around nine. She hadn’t needed to spend her gold on weapons or armor like the others, which meant she had more than enough to afford the necklace. Depending on the prices, Gabrielle could probably pick up some smaller items as well, like a pair of the boots Thistle wanted or a belt like Timuscor was looking over. However, she didn’t know when the next treasure they might find would come, and she needed to save enough to get information about her axe. One of the names on Wiscomb’s list resided in Baltmur, meaning that if they continued on track after the Grand Quest, Gabrielle would have the chance to finally get some answers. The last thing she wanted was to find herself at the doorway to understanding only to lack enough coins to forge a key.
The wiser choice would be to heed Elora’s advice, choose smaller items that gave her greater versatility. But Gabrielle couldn’t quite forget the way her weapon had felt in her hand while charged by Grumph’s spell, or the terror in the cloaked man’s eyes as she tore after him with mighty swings. All that had changed was her raw strength, yet that fact alone had turned the tide of their battle. That too was versatility, in a way. At least, for a barbarian.
“Elora,” Gabrielle said, motioning to the display case holding her future necklace. “Would you get the clerk? I’m ready to make a purchase.”
* * *
Russell thumbed at the final section of the module, fighting with temptation for the umpteenth time in so many weeks. He’d never seen a sealed section of a book before, at least not outside of test packets in school. Yet this module had come with a sealed divider plastered over the final portion, a golden sticker with a perforated seam. On the very front page of that section—which was the only one visible—was a warning not to open it until his players had begun the Grand Quest, assuming they qualified.
There were no threats; no mystical runes or vague warnings about what would happen if he ignored the instructions. Just a simple missive to wait until the time had arrived. Oddly, that was what had stayed Russell’s hand every time he’d been tempted to rip through those perforations and see what lay beyond.
Had there been some hokum about curses or threats, he’d have dismissed the whole thing as flavor for the game and gone right ahead. It was the simplicity of it that held him back. Because while the module didn’t actually say anything would occur if he disobeyed, Russell knew that it would. Somewhere deep down, he understood that if he broke that seal before the time arrived, this would be the last module by Broken Bridge he ever laid a hand on.
Around him, strewn across the bed like the scribblings of a madman—which perhaps they were—lay dozens of notebook pages where Russell had written down as much of the module’s information as possible. If something changed, he’d wanted to catch it, in the hope that this time, there would be no smudge; he’d finally have proof. But none of the pages were new. Since the last few games, Russell had given up on trying to jot down as much minutiae as his hand could bear. If pressed, he would have probably said it was because he suspected that if the pages had smudged once, they would smudge again. That wasn’t the real reason, though. The real reason was something he was having trouble admitting, even to himself.
With every game they played, with every roll of the dice, Russell could feel something growing closer. Whether it was magic, resolution, or a full on psychotic breakdown was anyone’s guess, but it was getting stronger the closer his players got to the Grand Quest. Russell had stopped trying to capture or prove the magic of what he was experiencing, and instead had started to simply enjoy it. If there was something different at play, if this really wasn’t just another tabletop game module, then he only needed to keep the game going. Sooner or later, they’d stumble across another moment like Tim’s broken D20.
Sometimes, Russell wondered how many other GMs were out there in the world, staring at that same seal on their own modules, doing battle with temptation and losing the fight. There were already so few copies of this most recent adventure. With every seal being snapped apart, the number was probably decreasing. How many would even qualify for the next module, or manage to track it down? Hell, who was he to say there would even be a next module? Russell didn’t have answers, but he wanted them more than he’d ever wanted anything else he could remember. And there was a strong chance that as least some of those answers were inside the sealed portion of his book.
But they would only reveal themselves if he reached that section properly, Russell was sure of that much. Hard as it tested his patience, he set the book aside. This wouldn’t be his last struggle with temptation; it was only for now that he’d come out triumphant. Thankfully, there were few struggles left before the problem resolved itself.
The Grand Quest was drawing near, closer and closer with every game. It wouldn’t be long at all until Russell could snap into that perforated seal guilt free. Until then, he just had to prepare his players as best he could.
Whatever waited beyond that seal, it was sure to be one hell of a challenge.
Chapter 39
With each day that the Grand Quest grew nearer, the Hall of Adventurers grew crazier, Sylan’s breaks grew shorter, and decent lodging in the capital grew harder to find. By the time the day before the event arrived, adventurers were camping half a day’s ride from the city, only coming in to turn in quests and get new ones, hoping to accomplish one of the qualifying tasks in time. The city was awash in adventurers, who brought with them considerable amounts of gold. Prices had spiked so much that Sylan was forced to buy his basic necessities at the back door of a shop whose owner he had history with. She was willing to cut Sylan a deal but couldn’t be seen charging such a currently meager price in view of everyone else.
Much as he’d enjoyed the excitement at first, Sylan couldn’t wait for the Grand Quest to begin. It was the final day of preparation, and he hurriedly scarfed down his meager lunch before he had to report back to his station. Every counter was staffed by a clerk, with even Thurm filling in when no one else could. Despite that, the line of adventurers had stretched outside the hall’s doors since that morning. It might not have been so bad if the adventurers had only wanted to turn in their proof of quest completion and accept another. Unfortunately, the thing eating away most of their time was the arguing.
Since the deadline was tomorrow, more than a few adventurers had gotten it into their heads to try and convince a clerk to approve them for the Grand Quest, even if their accomplishments fell short. Some tried to argue that their past exploits garnered them the right to compete, while others felt the culmination of many lesser tasks should be equivalent to one of the more difficult ones that earned entry. A few had tossed subtlety out the window entirely, resorting to threats and bribery to try and get their way. Those were met with more active discouragement, as well as the kind reminder that some of the adventurers who qualified for the private staircase also worked part time to ensure peace within the Hall. That generally sent them scampering away, which was at least quick. It was the arguers who took so long and held everyone up.
Sylan saw Delsup, looking as though he were ready to keel over, step into the break room. The poor gnome had taken an earlier shift, and as a result, he’d been at a counter for nearly half a day straight. It was like looking into his own future, as Sylan had no doubt that by the time he was done, he’d look just as haggard and worn out. Supposedly the hall was going to have priests and mages brought in later in the day to invigorate those still working; although, if it was anything like the occasional free meals provided, they’d get the cheapest option available. No spell was going to restore what the last week had drained out of the clerks. Only rest and peace would accomplish that.
By the gods’ mercy, those would both be coming soon. After this day was done, the vast bulk of adventurers would pour out of the capital like water through a sieve, leaving the regular citizens behind. While those who failed to enter the Grand Quest would certainly linger, they would be spent too, having tri
ed fruitlessly to qualify over the last few weeks. Sylan would be shocked if they dealt with more than a handful of adventurers for the next few days, meaning that they could relax and perhaps even take some time off.
It was a wonderful thought: a warm bed and no reason to rise from it. That image was all that kept Sylan going as he finished off the last of his meal and mentally braced to re-enter the fray. Just a few more hours. Come sunrise tomorrow, the Grand Quest would begin, and he would at last have relief.
Less than a day left until the big event finally started.
* * *
“A month isn’t enough time to teach anyone how to be a rogue. Neither is a year or a decade, for that matter. Being a rogue means a lifetime of training, always striving to stay one step ahead of those working to thwart you. But still, a month is a paltry amount of time to work with, even for someone with a half-decent foundation.”
So far as encouraging speeches went, Eric had heard many better. His old guard captain could have raised the dead with some of the monologues he’d delivered, though it had never had much effect on how Eric and the rest of the sentries performed. Elora’s words, while hardly galvanizing, were at least honest. Eric could appreciate that.
Standing before him next to a table that hadn’t been there when Eric went to bed last night, Elora stood a little straighter than usual. The day had been a normal one—more training, except that when he made it back from the latest tunnel of traps she’d set up, there were packages lying atop the table. Truth be told, Eric had almost forgotten that the Grand Quest was near until he saw what could only be presumed to be his new equipment.
“However, I will say this for you, Eric,” Elora continued. “You have a long way to go in your journey, and so much to learn it’s staggering, but you’ve proven that you do have the right to call yourself a rogue. Even if you insist on using an old short sword instead of something a little more thematically appropriate.”