“We seem to have a standoff,” Gabriel observed.
Standoff was a bit of a generous term; it’s hard to be taken seriously when you are quickly tanning from the inferno your opponent recently conjured.
Gabriel’s team of mercenaries didn’t make for the most intimidating sight at the best of times, but with Figo near fainting from a dislocated arm, Vish and Gabriel’s clothing torn to shreds, and Bling still playing in the grass, they looked about as terrifying as a parade of puppies.
Lydia was doing her bit, exuding menace entirely naturally, but she was one wayward adventurer in dirtied armour. Given that she was squaring up to a small company of soldiers, fronted by some kind of pyrophiliac, the odds looked a little skewed.
“No sudden moves,” Gabriel said, his mouth a thin, tight line.
Figo vomited on his own feet, quite violently.
“I’m sorry, Gabriel, I tried to hold it in,” the young man whimpered, and heaved again.
The soldiers were frowning at the growing puddle of gastronomic discharge forming at Figo’s feet.
“Does that count as a sudden move?” Vish whispered to Gabriel.
Gabriel sighed. It was becoming a familiar sound.
The mercenaries were not given much time to think of a plan. This wasn’t such a bad thing, because thus far Gabriel’s ol’ machination maker had only offered up, “Oh gods, oh gods, fuuuuck, shit, shit, shit…”.
Judging by the expressions on the faces of the others, they were having similarly coherent thoughts.
The dragon-robed goblin-fryer walked forward. He stopped a few paces from them, regarding them as a whole, and then started moving along their line like a drill sergeant inspecting his troops. He sized each of them up in turn. Chin strokes and hmm-ing hinted that he was evaluating, assessing - perhaps determining whether or not they were a threat.
So far, he seemed to be concluding, “no”.
The mage spent some time looking over Lydia, admiring her stature and the quality of her armour; he was not blind to the quantity of gore and ichor plastered to the metal, either. He noted the warrior’s missing arm, and how her remaining hand rested easily on the pommel of her sword. It was with some visible difficulty that he allowed himself to turn his back on her.
Vish was met with intrigue. The mage cocked an eyebrow when he came face to face with the brown-skinned man, and drew in his lips when he noticed the mind-mapper was wearing the robes of a sorcerer. The mage’s tongue darted in and out, as if tasting the air for magic, and confusion wrinkled his face when he didn’t find what he expected to. He moved on grudgingly.
Gabriel was given less attention. Apparently the man in claret had seen enough lanky, long-haired, transparent-skinned mercenaries in bright orange and violet robes to find them thoroughly uninteresting. He strolled on by.
Figo was similarly glossed over. The mage wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the archer’s breakfast covered boots and decided to steer clear.
He stopped at Bling, who attempted to hand him a daisy, and seemed to make up his mind.
“Who among you is the leader?” the mage asked.
“Him!” Vish answered immediately, pointing at Gabriel.
Gabriel mouthed some choice words at the mind-mapper, who simply shrugged in return.
When Gabriel turned back, the mage was in front of him.
“We’re really more of a, sort of, democratic collective,” Gabriel said weakly.
The other man took no notice. He looked Gabriel squarely in the eye and raised his right hand. His fingers, that mere moments before had spouted flames that had torched half a goblin tribe, were extended menacingly towards the mercenary captain.
Gabriel covered his face with his arms.
“Oh gods, please, no! Please, please, please…” Gabriel repeated, until the word faded in his throat.
He was quite surprised when, a few ragged breaths later, he found himself still not on fire.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, have I…?” the mage bumbled in a soft, aristocratic voice, “I’m a visitor to the Kaden Circle, you see. I thought this was the custom here, but it would seem I have been misinformed. I’m so dreadfully sorry, I didn’t mean to offend!”
Gabriel blinked at the man.
He looked down again at the mage’s hand, proffered in a handshake.
There was an awkward silence.
A chuckle cracked through the tension. This soon escalated into a riotous laugh, booming from Gabriel’s left.
“Oh, my gods,” Vish said, practically choking, “that, that,” he struggled for breath, “that was the best damn thing I have ever seen! My heart, my soul. Wow. Just, wow!”
“Alright, Vish, that’s enough,” Gabriel said, his cheeks rouging to add yet another garish colour to his already luminous ensemble.
“Oh gods, please, no!” Vish mimicked, doubling over as the laughter shook his entire body.
“For fuck’s sake,” Gabriel muttered under his breath, and then smiled weakly at the mage to cover his slip.
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“I, um, think perhaps you and your men are overly tired. It seems you have had something of an eventful morning. Such ordeals take their toll, no doubt,” the dragon-robed man suggested.
Gabriel took the offered save eagerly, and clung onto it like a raft in a storm, “You are too kind. Yes, the stresses of the night do appear to have been detrimental to the mental health of some of my people. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”
Vish was wiping a tear out of his eye. He went to swear at Gabriel but seemed content just to ride the high he was on. What was the value of one quick, dissatisfying curse when he had just been offered up ammo to mock Gabriel with for weeks?
“My name is Tulcetar “Dragon-Wing”, the mage said, bouncing Gabriel’s hand up and down enthusiastically, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Gabriel,” he hesitated a moment, battling with a decision, “uh, Thorne… Ham…” Gabriel searched for something else to say and came up with, “..Errrr.”
“Gabriel Thornehammer?” Tulcetar asked, obviously intrigued.
Gabriel worked his leathery tongue around his dry mouth.
“Yeah, “It’s my merc-,” he caught himself too late, “-nick name! My Mercanic name. We’re part of the Mercanic Guild. We’re… Mercenary… Masonic… people,” he lied, ever so shrewdly.
The mercenary captain watched in horror as his own clumsiness unfolded before him. It was like unwrapping a beautifully covered gift, containing utter stupidity. He could see Lydia’s shoulders slump from the corner of his eye, and he was painfully aware that Vish was staring at him with his mouth ajar.
Tulcetar “Dragon-Wing” mulled over this enlightening news, “You are mercenary masons?”
“Yes, quite successful ones too. Maybe you’ve heard of us?” Gabriel added, and really had to ask himself why.
Tulcetar looked abashed, “No, no, I’m ashamed to say I haven’t! Please pardon my ignorance. I would be delighted to hear more about your, uh, “Mercanic Guild” over lunch,” Tulcetar beamed, “However, first things first, your injuries must be seen to,” he clicked his fingers at a pair of soldiers, “Assist the young man and the girl back to the caravan at once.”
“Oh, she’s not,” Gabriel didn’t quite have the energy to explain, “She’s fine,” he informed his new acquaintance.
“Are you quite sure? She seems rather,” the mage’s clearly gentile sensibilities kicked in, “but of course,” he politely corrected, “If the rest of you would be so kind as to follow me, it would be my great pleasure to host you.”
At a flick of his wrist, Tulcetar set his men in motion. One man offered Figo a shoulder, while the others fell in around Gabriel’s crew in a loose formation.
“I was actually just thinking about setting up camp,” Tulcetar smiled.
“It’s morning,” Gabriel noted daftly.
Tulcetar hesitated, “We have been travelling for many weeks, and amusements have been few and far between,” he explained, “It would please me greatly if you were to honour me with your company. Besides, we are not too far from Tindra; we can afford to tarry a little.”
Gabriel opted to comply.
They were getting mixed signals from the mage. On the one hand, it appeared that Tulcetar was willing to delay his journey just to tend to their injuries. On the other hand, Gabriel was very aware of the soldiers hemming their little group in. It didn’t help that the soldiers did not seem to share the joviality of their master. They were a grim bunch - professional and detached. They looked the way one would expect trained mercenaries to look, Gabriel observed, somewhat ruefully.
Tulcetar “Dragon-Wing” led the small procession back towards the road. He kept the pace considerately slow.
Vish pulled up next to Gabriel, “Hey, Gabe, uh, quick question: What the fuck was that?”
Gabriel leaned close to the mind-mapper, “Isn’t it obvious, Vish? These are members of The Order of the Rising Dragon!” he waited for that to sink in, but it didn’t, “We’re about to have a run in with one of their members, in case you had forgotten.”
“So?”
“Sooo, it would hardly do for us to announce ourselves as mercenaries. Don’t you think that might, you know, alarm them a little?”
Vish shrugged, “Travelling mercenaries isn’t that weird. Besides, they’re going to know it was us afterwards, anyway. I mean, we’re pretty easy to describe.”
“That’s already bad enough, but afterwards is a different matter. We certainly don’t need to alert them in advance! It probably won’t be long until they figure out Hubert has been captured,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.
“You’re assuming they give a shit,” Vish pointed out.
“Yes, Vish, it’s my job to think about things that could potentially get us flambéed. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Okay, so you think it seems less suspicious if we are a band of mercenary masons who decided to take a detour through Gladstone Forest and pay the local goblins a visit?”
Gabriel looked at his feet, “Okay, the mason thing was a mistake, but I had to tell him something. What would you have had me say?”
“Merchants?” Vish suggested.
“Hunters,” Lydia offered, eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Trappers!” Vish continued with Lydia’s train of thought.
“Alright, alright,” Gabriel shushed them, “I get the point. Masons is what we have now, so that’s what we’re going to work with.”
They walked quietly for a time.
“What if they ask us to build a wall?” Vish asked.
“Oh, piss off, Vish,” Gabriel answered.
They ambled closer to the road.
The going was extremely easy, especially when compared to the perils of the forest. There were a few ruts and hillocks to navigate, but nothing taxing. Still, a quarter-turn journey was made a half-turn journey by their slow progress.
When asked why they had been passing near the forest’s edge, Tulcetar explained that his outriders had heard the goblins” war cry, and he had moved to intercept what they thought to be a raiding party. That was a bizarre concept to the mercenaries, who, silently but unanimously, agreed that “away” is the best direction to go when you hear of a goblin raiding party in the area. Gabriel couldn’t help but wonder if the kind-mannered mage was perhaps overly fond of barbequing things.
As they reached the last knoll, Lydia looked back at the scorched earth and nodded appreciatively at the destruction Tulcetar had caused.
“Fire… Why didn’t you think of that?” she asked Vish.
“Not a mage, Lydia,” Vish tutted.
“What are you then?”
“Charismatic, handsome, young, but with the wisdom of age,” Vish said whimsically.
“You are none of those things,” Gabriel corrected.
Lydia ignored them, “You know what I mean: your mind magic.”
“Geez, keep it down, will you?” Vish was casting looks about at the soldiers, but none of them seemed to be listening, “That’s not the kind of thing you just announce in public.”
Gabriel was frowning, “Vish, you do just that. I mean, literally all the time. I’ve seen you use mind-mapping as a party trick. Last month you tried to make some money by playing Figo off as a trained squirrel. You’re not exactly careful.”
“I’m selective,” Vish sneered, “We don’t know these folks from a patch of cacti right now, and there are people who get freaked out by the idea of mind manipulation.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Gabriel muttered, “Who wouldn’t want you tinkering with their soul?”
Vish brushed the comment aside, “Best we keep it quiet until we know what’s what,” he advised.
“To be fair, that is the smartest thing I have ever heard you say,” Gabriel conceded.
“I did have a life before you, “captain”. I know how to survive.”
“Not much of one,” Gabriel grimaced, “But it is true that you know how to survive... You seem to be completely immune to all of my prayers and curses.”
Vish looked smug, “I guess the gods just like me better than you. I mean, look at us,” he scanned Gabriel from head to toe, “You they gave the limbs of a spider, skin that has a natural aversion to sunlight, and the personality of a loaf of bread,” he gestured to himself, “Me, they gave awesome powers, a whole ton of charm, a generous spirit, and even a kick-ass cri…”
Vish stopped in his tracks and started patting himself down urgently.
Pained heartbeats later, Vish fished a small wooden cage from an inner pocket. Inside the cage was a very battered, very bruised, and extremely confused, brown cricket.
Vish mopped his brow with his sleeve.
“Wooooh,” he exhaled, “Okay, we’re good. We’re good.”