“I see,” Gabrielle said, finally moving the grapes to her mouth and crunching into them. “Setting aside the ‘how’ of your paladin-hood, it means that you’re now a better candidate to play the part than Eric.”
“To be fair, I was never all that good of a candidate to begin with,” Eric admitted. “I was just the one who owned armor.”
“Aye, and I suppose I’ll need to get myself a set of that before we reach Solium,” Thistle said, pulling out a quill and parchment, and jotting a few things down.
“Then, who plays the rogue?” Gabrielle asked.
“From what the goblins tell me, it seems Eric was quite nimble last night, darting in and out of battle, hiding in the shadows.” Thistle’s quill moved deftly and precisely even as he spoke.
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow at Eric, who turned his attention to his food and blushed slightly. “Clumsy Eric did that?”
“I don’t really know how,” Eric mumbled, moving his berries around his plate. “Everyone else just sort of seemed to be moving slower. I guess I’m used to being weighed down, and when I wasn’t, I felt fast.”
“You didn’t just feel fast, you were fast,” Thistle corrected. “Fast, stealthy, and deadly. Just like one would expect a rogue to be.”
Eric’s blush deepened. “I don’t know why my sword worked so much better than everyone else’s. It’s an old hand-me-down.”
“A hand-me-down from your father?” Thistle probed.
“Well, I didn’t get it from my mother.”
“That might account for it. Paladin weapons are usually blessed; it’s possible the one he passed down to you had such magic on it. Demons loathe blessed weapons,” Thistle explained.
“A rogue with a blessed sword,” Gabrielle chuckled. “What will they think of next?”
“I daresay I might be able to answer that question,” Thistle told her. “Grumph, if you please.”
Grumph gave a grunt and pulled the spellbook from his pouch, setting it on the table in front of Gabrielle.
“Oh, good, I’d worried we lost that,” Gabrielle remarked. She reached forward to take her book; however, Grumph put a thick finger on top, rendering it difficult to move.
“Gabby, were you able to cast any of the spells from that book yesterday?” Thistle asked.
“No, I didn’t get much time to look at it before we were attacked.”
“Do you think you could have?”
“Maybe. They were tough, but I could have probably gotten through at least one with enough time to practice.”
“Grumph has cast three of them. One last night, and two this afternoon while we waited for you,” Thistle informed her.
Gabrielle’s eyes went up as she stared across the table at the stoic half-orc. It wasn’t that she thought Grumph to be stupid, it was just… who’d ever heard of a half-orc wizard?
“If you want to try and play the part, it’s only fair that we give you some time to practice,” Thistle continued.
“No, Grumph should be the wizard,” Gabrielle said immediately. As soon as she’d realized what Thistle was telling her, it became obvious. The one most likely to pull off a role should be the one it was given to. Their task was too important for any other strategy to be considered. “If he cast three spells with less than a day to read that thing, he’s better suited to it. The only issue is that now we’re short a barbarian.”
“That’s not what the goblins told Thistle,” Eric interjected, his own shyness fading now that he was no longer the subject of discussion.
“It seems you swing a good axe,” Thistle added.
“No, that was just one of those things. I like this tribe and seeing them get killed set me off. It was closer to a tantrum than bravery.”
“As someone who has traveled with a barbarian before, I assure you, the capacity to turn fury into blood is almost the entire prerequisite checklist,” Thistle told her.
“Forgive my lingering doubt,” Gabrielle said. “I’ll do it, because everyone has roles that fit them better. I’m just saying, don’t lean on me during a real fight.”
“Concerns have been noted,” Thistle said. He could have pushed her harder, but he felt like she was more likely to come around on her own if given time. Now, the better strategy was to pull back and let the idea marinate. “Role changes aside, the plan stays the same from here. We keep heading toward Solium, and do our best not to die along the way. Any objections?”
Only silence and nodding heads met Thistle’s question.
“Then, I say we get a good night of rest and set out in the morning,” Thistle suggested. “We’re not quite running late, but we don’t have time to dawdle.”
“Plus, we should try and train a little on the way,” Eric added. “So we seem somewhat competent in our fake skills.”
“Aye, in our ‘fake’ skills indeed,” Thistle said, catching Grumph’s eye and giving a light shake of his head. They’d catch on in their own time. For now, there was dinner and sleep to attend to.
9.
The next morning saw the party rising with the sun, having a quick breakfast composed primarily of more fruit, and packing up their bedrolls. The few possessions they’d left Maplebark with had diminished even further, many of their things lost in the fire and chaos of the attack. Their packs, luckily, had been stored below the carts, so their basic necessities were still accounted for. Eric’s armor had survived the fire as well; however, he elected to abandon it. It was part of his old life, and any sentimentality he might have held toward it was suppressed by the stomach-turning thought of strapping himself back into the cumbersome apparatus.
The goblins did their best to replace what they could, offering ponies and provisions for the journey ahead. The ponies were mostly declined, because even the hardiest of them would have broken under Grumph’s weight; though Thistle accepted one on the grounds that his normal gait would slow everyone else down. The provisions were also taken with thanks. Thistle was offered a set of goblin armor, since he was the only one that was small enough to wear any, but he declined and instead requested a pair of sturdy daggers, a matched set, if possible. The goblins brought forth an array of their weapons, and eventually Thistle selected two that, while not actually a set, were close enough to fool a casual observer.
With one last word of thanks, and a promise to slow any Maplebark citizens that might come through the camp in pursuit, the goblins waved goodbye to the strange party that headed down the road to Appleram.
Once they’d been on the road for some time, Eric broke the silence that had seamlessly settled over them.
“I wanted to ask, why’d you turn down the armor? I thought you said you needed some.”
“Aye, I likely do,” Thistle agreed. “But right now, we’re a rather bedraggled bunch. When we get to Appleram, people will ask what happened. I intend to tell them the truth: we were kidnapped by goblins and we fought our way free.”
“That makes it sound like we fought the goblins,” Gabrielle pointed out.
“Which is what I want them to infer,” Thistle clarified. “People get waylaid by goblins all the time. It won’t raise a single eyebrow, or prompt many questions, and that’s what we want. Get in, resupply, get back on the road, and remain as unmemorable as possible.”
“Why bother?” Eric asked.
“Look, when we get to Solium with the scroll, there might be a bit of curiosity about us; but unless we give them a reason, they won’t waste the magic to verify we’re really the same adventurers who killed the kobolds. Appleram, however, is close enough to Maplebark that if we make anyone too interested, they might take a leisurely ride back in this direction. A ride that would take them through Maplebark, and it wouldn’t require more than one or two questions to piece together who we really are.”