“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.”