Split the Party Page 8

  “How did you know I wanted to be a paladin?”

  “Because, when most people find out how rare it is to be made one, they’re relieved,” Thistle explained. “As you’ve seen, it is a job that comes with many obligations which can shorten one’s lifespan. You weren’t relieved at all, though. You were disappointed.”

  Timuscor nodded as he hefted the next board into place. “It’s been my dream for as far back as I can remember.”

  “Then keep pursuing it with all you have. Just because I only know of one path to paladinhood, doesn’t mean it’s the only one that exists. And, speaking on a personal note, I think it would do our ranks well to have one like you among us. You’ve got the spirit of a paladin, if not the actual abilities.”

  “Thank you.” Timuscor couldn’t bear to look at Thistle dead on after receiving such high praise; so instead, he focused on hammering in the board he was holding. The nails went right in after each powerful blow he delivered. Timuscor dearly wished it were so easy to grasp hold of his goal, a single, swift bout of effort followed by success.

  He wasn’t quite ready to give up, though. Timuscor would keep hammering at the door that barred him from his dream, banging against it ceaselessly until either the door shattered or he did.

  Chapter 9

  Gabrielle nudged her horse forward, weaving between the trees as best she could manage. There was no telling how much time they were losing traveling off the road, but it was certainly a faster alternative than meeting a full group of bandits with only herself and Grumph to fight them off. His spells were quick and her axe was strong, but neither of them was so confident of victory that they proposed the idea of taking on a needless battle. Despite Gabrielle‘s certainty that she could take down at least a few of the bandits in any skirmish, it wouldn’t be enough to keep them alive. Dying on the road was bad for the citizens of Briarwillow, their friends stuck back in that town, and, most of all, Gabrielle herself. She’d made some peace with the fact that choosing the life of a barbarian warrior meant her death would ultimately come in battle; Gabrielle just didn’t want it to be a pointless death.

  Shadows of the trees stretched out before them like grasping fingers. Night was falling, and Gabrielle’s mind was split with worry for her and Grumph, as well as for those they’d left behind. At least the others had shelter to work with; she and Grumph would just have to hope their luck at not seeing monsters held. Traveling through the woods made the prospect all the more risky; however, they’d still yet to encounter so much as a stray boar. Once, the goblins had told Gabrielle that the beasts of the wild were more connected with the magic that flowed through their realm than the sentient races would ever be. They believed animals could sense great power, and either gathered near it or ran away, depending on whether it was of light or dark. If her tribe was right, then it certainly didn’t bode well for Briarwillow. Everything that flew, slithered, or crawled seemed to be keeping a wide distance.

  Still, foreboding as it made the forest seem, Gabrielle was grateful for the unexpected solitude. If the forests had been swollen with monsters and the roads sieged by bandits, there was a very good chance they would have had to turn back. At least this way they were making progress, incremental though it was.

  She was about to guide her horse through a moderate gap between a pair of thick-trunked trees when an unexpected scent wafted through the air. Gabrielle jerked her horse to a stop and held up a hand, indicating for Grumph to hold his position as well. The half-orc complied immediately, resting a heavy hand on the hilt of his demon-bone blade.

  “I smell smoke.” Her eyes scanned the forest, searching for the telltale flicker of a fire. They found nothing, nor did her ears pick out the sounds of men settling in for the night. If they were near the bandits’ camp, then every one of them was displaying a mastery of stealth that had been unseen when watching them barrel noisily down the roads. It was possible—as were all things—but unlikely.

  Moving as quietly as she could with an animal that weighed hundreds of pounds beneath her, Gabrielle started forward once more. The scent of smoke still lingered, yet no amount of searching would reveal its source. No flames, nor smoke, nor crackling of wood burning. It was as though she merely smelled the ghost of a fire. She noticed a thick grove to her right—trees lined densely enough that it might have hidden a few people taking rest, but not so close that they would have concealed the flickering light of flames.

  Gabrielle halted again, this time lowering herself down from the horse as she did. A grove like that made too easy a place to lay an ambush, especially with the unexplained scent dancing in her nose. If it was filled with bandits, best to try and take them by surprise; if it was actually empty, then all the better. They’d need to make camp soon; the grove could just as easily be their hiding place as an enemy’s.

  She skulked through the forest, moving as softly as the wind’s whisper. Eric might be quicker and quieter than she in the caverns and castles of the world, but she knew how to walk with silent steps in a forest. Behind her, Grumph stood, still mounted on his horse, hand off his blade and resting readily at his side. His movements would surely give them away, if indeed they did have any advantage of surprise, and they both knew it. Instead of stomping about, Grumph was readying himself to act if it was needed. While his spells weren’t the most potent, a well-placed fire blast amidst the trees would provide ample distraction for escape.

  As she drew closer to the grove, Gabrielle’s straining ears finally caught something other than rustling leaves or the breathing of horses. It was a voice, muffled and light, yet with a whimsical tone. There were no words being spoken—at least none she could make out—only a slight, rhythmic cadence being mumbled. Gabrielle slowed her already tentative movements. The voice . . . was it humming? She couldn’t be certain, but she did know the smell of smoke was growing stronger the closer she walked to the grove. Hesitating for only a moment, Gabrielle decided to see her plan through. If it was a bandit, there seemed to be only one, which meant she and Grumph could hopefully handle them without trouble. Perhaps they could even convince this mystery bandit to talk, gaining enough information to use the road safely.

  Gabrielle quickly reached the distance where careful movements would work against her; skill could only compensate for so much of the noise her armor made. Better to charge in at once, taking her quarry by surprise while she still had the chance. With a single glance over her shoulder to Grumph, Gabrielle pointed to the trees and bolted forward.

  She burst into the clearing, axe raised high overhead and a look of barely constrained fury on her face. Waiting for her inside was not a bandit, as she’d expected, nor was it some simple beast that had been making strange sounds. Instead, there was an elven woman with short, cropped brown hair and an expression of sheer panic at the mad, axe-wielding woman that had suddenly torn forth from the trees.

  “Graaaa!” Gabrielle let out a yell before she’d even realized it was at her lips, the familiar fog of battle overtaking her mind.

  “Gaaaaaaaah!” The elven woman shrieked, fumbling through a small pouch at her side and producing a silver rod. She pointed it toward Gabrielle, her hands shaking as she stared down the wild, blonde woman in the blood-red armor. “S-S-Stay back! I know how to use this!”

  The unmasked terror in her voice cut through to Gabrielle’s reasonable side, and it began to occur to her that perhaps this woman was not a holed up bandit after all. Pushing back against the waves of anger that were trying to fuel her, demanding she slam her axe into something’s skull, Gabrielle began to assert her rational mind, and as she did so, the situation made much more sense.

  Next to the elven woman’s feet was a sleeping bag under a backpack. To the left of those things were a waterskin, a large satchel, and what appeared to be pieces of dead rabbit sitting atop a strange box boasting strange runes. As Gabrielle watched, she realized the rabbit was sizzling, as if being cooked over a fire, yet still none was in sight.

  Slowly, she lowe
red her blade until it rested in front of her defensively. “Are you a bandit?”

  “Am I a bandit? You’re the one who just came tearing in swinging that axe all about.” The woman’s hand steadied slightly, but the silver rod was still wobbling through the air as she spoke. “Seems to me you’re the one looking to rob and kill.”

  “Sorry about that. We’ve been hiding from thieves riding the roads all day, and when I saw you hiding here, I . . . well, I jumped to some wrong conclusions. I’m not here to rob or hurt you, though. My name is Gabrielle.”

  “I appreciate the words, Gabrielle, but I can’t help noticing you’re still holding that big axe at the ready.”

  “You’ve still got your silver stick pointed at me.”

  “You’re the one who came bursting into my campsite.”

  “I suppose that’s fair.” Gabrielle leaned down and carefully set her axe on the lush grass of the forest’s floor. She then rose back up, hands in front of her chest to show there were no other concealed weapons on her person. “See, no more axe.”

  “It’s a start.” Slowly, the woman lowered her rod, though she pointedly did not release it from her hand. “So, Gabrielle, was it? What brings you to these woods, invading people’s resting spots?”

  “On my way to Cadence Hollow. Had to stick to the woods in order to avoid the bandits,” Gabrielle replied honestly.

  “Same here. Are you cutting around Briarwillow as well?”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “No, we’re coming from Briarwillow. Things are . . . strange there. We need to get word to the mages at Cadence Hollow so that they’ll help.”

  The woman snorted, an oddly melodic yet disgusting sound. “Good luck with that. Mages aren’t exactly known for their altruism.”

  “Our friends are back there. We have to try.”

  “That a fact?” Looking Gabrielle up and down, the woman seemed to relax slightly, for the first time allowing herself to look away from her invader, even if only for the briefest of seconds. “Well, Gabrielle, you seem to be telling the truth, or at least, if you were a robber, I’d hope you would have come up with a better lie. Why don’t we sit and talk for a few moments? Perhaps we might be able to help one another. This journey can be perilous, you know.”

  Gabrielle slowly lowered her arms. “That sounds like a good idea. May I ask what to call you?”

  “Me?” The woman did a deep, wobbly bow that almost sent her tipping over. “I am Fritz. Traveling purveyor of potent potions, expert in enchanted items, and conjuror of the cheapest tricks you’ll find anywhere between Baltmur and the Dragon Sea. I deal in anything with stoppers, runes, or switches, and all at very reasonable prices.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Fritz.” A sudden thought occurred to Gabrielle at the mention of magic, and she decided it was best to get it out of the way as soon as possible. “Before it comes as another surprise, I should probably tell you that I’ve got a friend traveling with me, and he’s waiting outside the grove in case I need help. He’s a peaceful fellow, but he’s also a half-orc.”

  Fritz raised one of her barely visible eyebrows and looked Gabrielle over once more. “Are you sure you aren’t secretly bandits?”

  * * *

  “More roasted turkey?” Eric held the platter up, only to have both Thistle and Timuscor wave him off. To be fair, they had managed to put a sizable dent in the massive bird. It was so large, in fact, that Eric deeply suspected the plucked foul was one of the rare dire animals that occasionally popped up. They were stronger, bigger, and all-around more dangerous than their more mundane counterparts. Also, as Eric had learned after they cooked it using the inn’s oven, more delicious.

  The three of them were huddled together in the blacksmith’s basement, which they’d begun to think of as their temporary home while they were stuck in Briarwillow. They’d watched the last rays of the sun fade from the sky before barricading themselves inside. Thistle had built a very small hole into their back door, barely big enough to stick four nails through, which would serve as their way to see when the sun rose once more. Eric was keenly aware of the fact that they might be going overboard, especially since they had no reason to believe the people of Briarwillow would return, and he didn’t give one steaming pile of bugbear shit about that fact. He much preferred being overcautious and alive to flippant and dead.

  “Who’s taking first shift?” Timuscor asked. He planned to take the middle shift, worst of the three as it broke up one’s sleep schedule, himself.

  “No one, as I can’t say I see much need for holding watch tonight.” Thistle picked at the remains of turkey on his plate, occasionally sticking one of the smaller pieces into his mouth despite the protests of his full stomach. “Anything trying to break in will make more than enough noise to wake us, and if it’s powerful enough to tear through our fortifications before we can get ready, then I doubt we’d stand any real chance against it even if we were prepared. Better to get a good rest, especially since last night’s was interrupted.”

  “It won’t hurt us to hold watch anyway, just in case,” Eric said.

  “I greatly disagree,” Thistle replied. “Weeks on the road have worn us down, and last night’s lack of sleep is only compounding the issue. For what lies ahead of us, we need to be at our best. That means allowing ourselves the luxury of a restful evening or two, as well as properly prepared meals. I’ve agreed to your plans about looking for the missing townsfolk, but we are going to do it in a way that offers the best chance of returning alive. The first part of which is allowing our bodies and minds a chance to repair themselves.”

  “You can both rest; I don’t mind keeping a long watch,” Timuscor offered.

  “Kind though that is, you need the rest as much as either of us,” Thistle said. “Perhaps even more. With Gabrielle and Grumph gone, Eric and I will be trusting in your strength should things go awry. It serves all of us if you’re in tip-top shape.”

  Eric considered trying to argue the point with Thistle, but as he did, an unwanted yawn wormed its way free from his mouth, essentially proving the gnome’s point for him. Thistle was right; now that they’d finally stopped moving, they were all feeling the weeks of travel piled on top of them. For Eric, the idea of a whole night without having to feel constantly alert, even when he was dreaming, seemed so luxurious a commodity that he felt like he should make sure his coin purse hadn’t suddenly grown lighter. Thistle seemed more hunched than usual, and Timuscor had dark, visible bags beneath his eyes. If they were going to try and refresh themselves, there wasn’t likely to be a better opportunity than this one.

  “Thistle has the right idea. We owe it to the people of Briarwillow to be in top form when we try to save them. It gives us the best chance of discovering something useful, not to mention staying alive long enough to relay the information when Grumph and Gabby bring back mages. Let’s take tonight off, for everyone’s sake.”

  Timuscor nodded, then took a bite of bread and chewed it slowly. A niggling suspicion in Eric’s brain told him that the knight would still be sleeping with one eye open, no matter what they said. That was Timuscor’s choice, though; Eric neither had the power nor the desire to force his will on another’s mind. All they could do was make the case and provide the opportunity. What Timuscor did with it was in his hands.

  “Thank you, Eric,” Thistle said. “It’s especially important, because tomorrow, we’re going to be doing some traveling.”

  “We are?” Timuscor asked.

  “Aye. As we were working today, I realized that the strange feeling Grumble placed in my stomach is doing more than weakening my appetite: it also seems to be slightly tugging me in a constant direction. Near as I can guess, that’s the spot where the source of the evil is, and where we’ve got the best chance of finding Briarwillow’s citizens.”

  “The gods have strange ways of passing information,” Eric remarked. “Can you tell us where your gut is pointing you?”

  “I fully intend to, but not until the morning.”
Thistle set his plate down in a box they’d brought with them to hold debris. “No need to set your minds alight with ideas just before it’s time to shut them down. Once dawn breaks and we are ready to go, I promise to share all that I can with you two. The paladin senses are far from exact, but I have a few solid hunches of where we should start, if nothing else.”

  With the matter settled, Thistle laid down on his bedroll, gazing up at the thick ceiling separating them from the world above. Timuscor followed suit a few moments later, and Eric, the last of them to be awake, blew out their salvaged lantern before settling down on the floor as well.

  The three of them lay there until sleep finally claimed them, their last moments of consciousness spent straining with all of their might to hear the first warning signs of footsteps traipsing through the town. Those sounds never came, and soon all three were completely dead to the world.

  Chapter 10

  “They’re made by this group of wizards out in Thatchshire’s capital. Cooks everything just like a fire would, but without the smoke or light. Perfect for the merchant or adventurer-on-the-go who wants to keep a low profile.” Fritz sat beside her strange rune-covered box, reaching down periodically to rotate the roasting strips of meat Grumph had pulled from his pack. Darkness wrapped around them like a protective curtain, the only illumination coming from the nearly full moon that hung fat and white over their heads. Ordinarily, a fire would have been lit even with the risk of attracting bandits, but with seemingly no animals to keep at bay, it seemed more prudent to simply let the stars provide lighting.

  “They started out as bigger models made for royalty and those with lots of wealth, but over the past year, the wizards focused on creating small ones like this that could be sold across kingdoms more easily. Since I was already going to hit the road to make my fortune anyway, I’ve been traveling across the lands, showing it off and taking orders for the wizards.”