NPCs (17 page)

“It’s a little less defined than that, but you’ve got the gist of it right,” Thistle admitted.

“Then the matter is settled.” Mayor Branders paused to take another scoop of porridge from the pot. A man his size could put away half the pot, were he so inclined. “Now, I asked around a bit and learned you lot came into town looking for supplies. Lost what you had in a goblin raid. Thistle and the woman with the axe need armor. Anyone else?”

“I could use something light,” Eric spoke up. Much as he loved his newfound freedom, he wouldn’t mind having a barrier between his flesh and enemy blades next time fighting started.

“Light, huh? I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got people working on something special for your warrior and something appropriate for you, Thistle. Now, as for weapons, does anyone need anything?”

“I could use a set of decent daggers,” Thistle said.

Mayor Branders eyed the set on his hips carefully. “Seems like what you’ve got is beyond anything I’d be able to provide.”

“These belong to Sierva, another adventurer,” Thistle explained. “She loaned them to me for the last round of the tournament, and in the chaos that followed I had to use them. As soon as I find her, they return to her possession.”

“Quite respectable of you,” Mayor Branders noted. “All right then, I’ll find our best blacksmith and put him on it. Anyone else?”

“I need a weapon,” Grumph said, his rough voice somewhat muted. He was loath to pick up a melee item,
but
he had to face the fact that he simply didn’t have enough magic to handle every situation with spells. Yesterday’s battle had illustrated his need for something to knock attackers back with. If he hadn’t had to waste magic creating his energy weapon, he’d have had more power to use helping others.

“Right, you’re the wizard.” If Mayor Branders felt any curiosity about the request, or the fact that it came from a half-orc boasting magical skills, he kept it to himself. “Staff, dagger, or something else?”

“Blade,” Grumph replied. “One-handed, sharp, and sturdy.”

“I see no problem with that. In fact, I may be able to get you something quite nice. That’s weapons and armor
,
then. Anything else you lot need, aside from the basic provisions and horses?”

“No,” Thistle said, speaking immediately. “You have already been more than generous. I feel we will owe payment for what has been promised as it is.”

“You try to pay me and I’ll throw you in a cell,” Mayor Branders informed them. He finished off his second bowl of porridge and rose from the table, extricating himself with great care so as not to jostle those near him. “I’ll need two days to get everything in order for you. Can you spare the time?”

“We can,” Thistle informed him. “Time to rest would be helpful, and I must locate Sierva to return her daggers.”

Mayor Branders nodded. “Right
,
then. See you in the morning
,
two days from now. I might send people by to get measurements, so if you leave, let the innkeeper know where you’re going.”

“Certainly,” Thistle promised.

With that assurance, the mayor of Appleram stepped out the door, leaving the party alone for the first time all morning.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Eric said.

“Me neither,” Gabrielle agreed. “Good thing the mayor is a decent guy. After the tournament trickery, I thought he’d be a real rogue.”

“Kind, maybe. Smart, certainly,” Grumph told them.

“Grumph is spot on,” Thistle concurred. “Make no mistake, we should be quite thankful for the mayor’s generosity; however, do not take his actions as totally altruistic.”

“What is he getting out of giving stuff away?” Eric asked.

“Favor from the adventurers. Yesterday, immediately after it became obvious he was trying to hoodwink everyone, he was given a firsthand glimpse of how dangerous adventurers can be when rallied together. Now
,
they’re riding a battle high, short on coin, and easily could be swayed to believe he was a corrupt mayor in need of sword-dispensed justice. By making overtures of apology, he sets the tone before anyone else has a chance to, minimizing the odds of receiving several broke adventurers’ wrath.”

“But he said he was only meeting with us,” Gabrielle pointed out.

“And surely he meant it, but he’ll have some communication with the others, via proxies or messages. We will be the symbol he holds up in front of them: the paladin who saved his children, and his party, are the first to receive the mayor’s apologies and some recompense. It’s rather impressive, actually. The man is a skilled politician.”

“So, are we going to do anything to stop him?” Eric asked.

Thistle raised a small eyebrow. “Why would we stop him?”

“Because he’s lying to everyone.”

“So?”

“What do you mean
‘
so’
?” This time
,
it was Eric’s turn to make an expression of surprise, his eyes widened slightly.

“I mean
,
who cares if he’s lying?” Thistle countered. “If a man claims to love children, builds orphanages to help them, saves them from trouble, gets them food when they are hungry, and all the while secretly hates the devil out of children, what does the lie matter? Actions are more important
than
motivations. Mayor Branders wants to give us what we need, what
our town
needs, for us to pull this off, and he inadvertently helps our cause by making examples out of us. We get gear, reputation, and credibility when we arrive in Solium. The other adventurers will get kind treatment as well, plus a few bits here and there. Mayor Branders gets a town not swarming with angry adventurers. Whether he does these things out of the goodness of his heart or not, they still lead to positive outcomes. That’s what matters most.”

“You are strangely pragmatic about this stuff, for a paladin,” Gabrielle noted.

Thistle gave a slight shrug and dipped a spoon back into his porridge. “No one gave me a codex on how to do this job, so I’m just swinging my sword in the dark.”

“Seeing as yesterday
,
you helped save some kids, risked your own life countless times, and aided in halting a demon attack, I think you’re doing pretty good so far,” Eric said.

“It’s a start,” Thistle said, then turned his attention to finishing breakfast while it was still warm.

* * *

The day wore on slowly, leaving the group to linger about the inn while resting. After lunch, Thistle left to lend aid at the makeshift medical tents that had been set up near the arena. Many had been kept from the grasp of death
already;
although they still needed ample healing before they would be whole once more. It was good practice, aside from being a good deed, and it was helping Thistle learn something important for any adventurer: his limits. The divine magic he drew from Grumble was far from
infinite
; in fact, he could exhaust it in minutes if he healed continuously.

Thistle was meditating on this as he walked back toward the inn, so lost in thought that he nearly missed the voice calling to him.

“Well, well, I used to have a pair of daggers just like that.” The tall figure approaching him stood out on Appleram’s dusty roads. It was taller than most of the crowd around it, for one, and the elongated ears were certainly an oddity amongst the humans scurrying about. The figure met with Thistle in front of a small wooden building, the shop of a fletcher, judging by the sign on its door.

The gnome glanced upward
,
and a smile lighted on his small face. “Sierva, you look well.”

“As well as can be expected after a demon attack.” She brushed her hand on her trousers
;
the leather armor had been left behind this day. Without it obscuring her form, it was evident how fetching she was by human standards. By an elven gauge, she carried too much muscle and breast, and of course
,
no dwarf would have looked twice at her, as dwarves were notorious for appreciating
women
low to
the
ground and powerfully strong. Thistle, being a well-traveled gnome, noted her beauty with a clinical interest then filed it away in his mind. His standard of beauty had been set by his wife, and no form this side of the heavens would
ever
take its place.

“I’m glad you found me
;
I’ve been wanting to return these.” Thistle unfastened the belt clinging to his hunched waist and offered up the daggers. “Apologies for abusing your generosity. Things just got too hectic for me to find you afterwards.”

“I never doubted you’d bring
them
back to me,” Sierva assured him, accepting the pair of blades. “Though
,
I wouldn’t have blamed you for trying. These are the best pair I’ve ever crafted.”

Thistle’s face tilted in surprise. “You made them?”

“I dabble in smithing, as well as a few other crafting trades,” she explained. “In my experience, making enchanted items is far easier than finding someone who has what you want.”

“Aye, I can see how that would be. Perhaps I’ll encourage our wizard to take up such hobbies as well.”

“Your wizard, he’s a half-orc, right?”

Thistle nodded, keeping his emotions concealed in the shadows of his mind. He liked this woman,
and
hoped she was not about to say something to change that.

“That’s rather unique. And you had others in your party as well, didn’t you? An axe-wielder
,
and a swordsman, if I recall correctly.” Sierva ran the belt across her waist as she spoke, fastening the buckles and adjusting the position of the sheathed daggers resting against her legs.

“You know quite a bit about my friends,” Thistle noted.

“You and your friends know quite a bit about demons, from what I’ve heard,” Sierva countered.

For a moment, silence stood between them, an unwelcome guest shuffling its feet on the dirty Appleram road. Thankfully, it was sent away quickly, as Thistle let a wide grin grace his face and decided to push the conversation onward.

“Shall we stop with the dancing and speak plainly? You want to know what we’ve learned about the demons.”

“That, and I wouldn’t mind hearing how you acquired the knowledge
,
either,” Sierva added.

“I expected as much. What’s in it for us?”

“A sharing of information,” Sierva offered, her expression friendly
,
but her words careful. “You tell us what you know, we tell what we know. This wasn’t the first demon attack, and I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”

“It’s a start,” Thistle said. “Where and when shall we meet?”

“Let’s have dinner. My party has booked a private room at one of Appleram’s more pleasant restaurants, The Keening Wyvern. We can sit, eat, drink, and talk. Sundown work?”

“Sundown is fine,” Thistle assured her.

* * *

Grumph and Gabrielle had gone to squeeze in a bit of training after Thistle left to help the wounded, so Eric spent his morning walking the streets of Appleram. He did this partly in
an
effort to stretch his tired muscles, but it was also to become more aware of his surroundings. Eric liked knowing where obstacles were, the locations of blind alleys, and places he might duck into should a need for hiding arise. In his guard days, he’d assessed these proactively, making sure he knew spots that might be used against him. Now, he wasn’t entirely sure what motivated him to make these mental maps, only that he felt more secure after becoming familiar with a place. It was why he’d known the arena so well, and that had paid ample dividends.

As his feet carried him along the worn road that linked Appleram’s various establishments, he became aware of a strange discrepancy from the days prior. Before he had been glanced at by the townsfolk in the same way one might view a barrel in the path. It was there, it shouldn’t be bumped into, and there might
be
something worth taking from it, were one the thieving sort. Today
,
they were giving him
a
wide-berth, stealing glances
,
and spitting out words in hushed whispers. Eric was no longer a barrel to them, which he viewed as
an
improvement, but they weren’t acting like he was a traveler either. If anything, they were treating Eric like he was… an adventurer.

He tried to shake off the idea, but as soon as it entered his mind
,
it took root, feeding off the fertile soil of Eric’s own observations. Their behavior fit, not just based on what he’d seen others do when adventurers came through Maplebark, but also based on what he’d done. They were curious, hesitant, and more than a little on edge at his presence. But that was crazy! Eric wasn’t an adventurer, not really. He was only a crappy guard playing a part. Sure, it was a positive sign that he was fooling them, but still…

W
as he still playing a part? Eric stopped in his tracks, nearly causing an old woman behind him to crash into his back, a disaster only avoided thanks to the distance she’d kept from him. He’d been so frantic with fear and excitement the previous day that he’d never paused to evaluate his actions. In the span of less than an hour, he’d eluded guards, broken into a secure building, lied to more guards, and fought demons. That sure sounded like an adventurer’s afternoon. Even if he’d paused for the merest of seconds to consider what the person he was pretending to be should do he could
have written
it all off as part of the act, but that pause had never come. His actions, from the best to the worst, had been all impulse. He’d done what he, Eric the guard, thought was best at every turn.