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…
Was 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.
When he began walking again, it was with a renewed vigor. Eric needed to move, needed to feel his body bend to his will. It was the only way to get out of his head and right now, he needed that space. He wasn’t quite ready to face the revelation looming over him. He wasn’t sure how one even got ready for that sort of thing.
All he was certain of was that it felt good to move quickly, so that’s what he did.
Gabrielle swung her axe rhythmically, focused on nothing but the timing. Not the strength of the blow, not the angle of the blade, none of it. This was about feeling comfortable with the heft of the weapon in her hands, about learning how each muscle through her back and shoulders worked during various parts of the swing. Soon, she would add attention to form, making certain she knew how the grain of the wood should feel against her palm, and how the tug of the axe should pull on her arms. Soon, but not quite yet.
Grumph sat a few yards away, the book of spells resting open in his lap. The two of them were at what remained of the arena, which had fallen into debris and splinters not long after the last demon was beaten. The hurried, shoddy construction had barely held together for the fight; once time went to work on the weakened supports, all but the sturdiest bits collapsed. Despite this, the arena’s location was remote from the town, and there weren’t many people eager to linger about, so it made for a peaceful training facility. There were others sprinkled about, but they kept enough distance to allow Grumph and Gabrielle to focus.
Not that focus was helping all that much. Despite his best efforts and several hours’ concentration, Grumph was no closer to making the final spell in his book work. He understood most of the components presented, but there was something he was missing, something that made it all fit together. At first, he thought it required more contemplation, but the longer he sat without progress, the more he suspected he had reached his limits as a pretend wizard. The real ones trained under other mages, learning magic from the very basics. He’d done exceptionally well to fake it through four spells; perhaps this was the gap that only training would be able to bridge. Four would be enough to sell his cover, he hoped. His only other option was to find a spell caster to teach him, and that was assuming he even had the potential to learn. Grumph had poured enough mugs of ale for drunken wizards to know that very few were able to master every level of magic. The vast majority of them hit a wall that was nearly impossible to break through. It was possible that this was his.
“You going to sit there and read all day or you going to actually cast a spell?”
Grumph glanced up to find Gabrielle staring down at him, skin shining in the sun thanks to the coat of sweat she’d worked up. The blade of her axe was on the ground and she was leaning against the shaft as she rested. From the heaviness of her breathing, Grumph estimated she’d be able to start swinging again in mere moments. The young woman’s progress was remarkable.
“Sit,” Grumph sighed, closing the book. “Last spell is beyond me.”
“What about the others?”
“Them, I can cast.”
“I know you can cast them, I’m asking why you aren’t casting them,” Gabrielle said. “Training is training, whether it’s an axe, a bow, or mystical arts. Doing something over and over will make you better at it.”