At the front of the store, Boltac found a strapping young lad, a Farm Boy no doubt, staring at a rack of swords with an open mouth. The boy was so entranced by the cold and lethal steel on the wall that he didn’t even turn when Boltac entered the room. Boltac stepped behind the counter like a captain stepping on the deck of his ship. “Can I help you?”
“I need a sword,” said the Farm Boy, his eyes not leaving the weaponry.
“Then you have come to the right place. Welcome, my young friend, to Boltac’s General Store and Dungeon Outfittery. We have everything that a strapping young Adventurer like yourself could need to loot your way to Fame and Glory.”
“We?” asked the lad, with the kind of innocence that can only come from hard work, clean living, and getting kicked in the head by livestock.
“Yes, the Royal We. Or, in this case, the Shopkeeper’s We.”
“But there is only one of you?”
“Yes, but I am so eager to help you, I will work as hard as two men. Now, what’s the story? Who you gotta stab? Who you gonna loot?”
“No,” said the Farm Boy as he hung his head in embarrassment. “It’s not like that. I don’t want to loot anybody. I… I just have to… I mean, I am about to embark on an Adventure of High Purpose and Consequence.” With this last phrase, Boltac’s hopes rose. Maybe the kid was a little slow, but those fancy words sounded like money to Boltac. He smiled like a fleshy shark.
“My friend, you have come to the right place. High Purpose and Consequence is what we are all about at Boltac’s. Why, the Duke of Robrecht himself has granted me my license to purvey. He has an eye to quality, his Dukeship does, and his warrant of commerce personally guarantees that this,”–he indicated his dark, dusty store with an expansive gesture of his hands–“is the finest merchandise you can buy in the town of Robrecht.”
“But, yours is the only store the Duke allows in the town of Robrecht.”
“Yes, I see that you are a quick study,” said Boltac, directing the young man back through the shelves. “I invite you to direct your keen wit toward my wares. Here we have an assortment of torches and oil-bearing devices. If you notice this one–with the curved blade on the handle–particularly good if you are surprised coming around a corner.”
Boltac turned the Farm Boy sharply and indicated a floor-to-ceiling rack of glass bottles, “Here, of course, we have our major and minor healing potions–antidotes, ointments, and unguents of all kinds. A must for any prudent Adventurer. These potions are brewed by the finest Mercian apothecaries and brought in by mule train once a moon.”
Moving right along, Boltac directed his young shopper towards the racks in the back, “And here is the armor. A must for all but barbarians and the most self-confident Magic workers. You aren’t a Magic worker are you?”
“I don’t think so,” said the lad, a little overwhelmed by how fast this was all coming at him.
“Perfect, then you have your choice of chain mail, splint mail, ring mail, plate mail, plate armor and–far less protection but the girls love it–leather armor. Feel that? Very supple.”
“But what I need is a sword,” protested the Farm Boy.
“En-henh,” said Boltac, “Which brings us to back to lighting. A question of prominent importance to any Adventurer.”
The Farm Boy looked longingly back at the swords.
“I know, I know,” continued Boltac, “you think the thing with the pointy end is the most important bit of gear you can buy.”
“A Hero’s life depends on the strength of his blade.”
“Sometimes. But there are two things I can guarantee you are going to need. 1) Water. 2) Light.”
“What about food?”
“Eh, you can live for days without food. A strong lad like you could eat what he kills, but without water… not so much. And the dark. Are you comfortable in the dark?”
“I have walked this land at night since I was a small child.”
“And now that you’re a big child… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just having fun. My point here is, you know what lives far, far underground, in the darkness?”
“I do not, but I am ready to boldly face the unknown.”
“En-henh. You got no idea. For that matter, neither do I. But what I do know is that whatever horrible underground thing you mean to bash to a pulp in the name of your personal fame or fortune, you can bet that it can see in the dark.”
The Farm Boy stood there with a brave, stupid look on his face.
“And you know what can’t see in the dark?”
“Uh…”
“You. You can’t see in the dark. Can you?”
“No.”
“Then trust me, you pain-in-the-ass, take a lantern. In fact, take two and some torches, just in case.”
“What about that one,” the Farm Boy asked, pointing to a lamp that hung on its own peg high on the wall.
“Oh, that, you have a very good eye, my friend. That is the Magic Lantern of Lamptopolis. It cannot be broken and it never goes out as long as it’s carried.”
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“Lamptopolis?” asked the Farm Boy.
“Okay, you caught me, I made it up. But it’s a lantern and it’s clearly Magic.”
“It’s beautiful. How does it work?”
“It’s Maaaaaaaaagic. That’s how it works. Some kinda glowing crystal in the center there. You pick it up, it turns on. But trust me, it can’t be broken.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’ve never had apprentices, have you? Third rule of shopkeeping: If a thing can’t be broken by an apprentice, it can’t be broken. Now lemme see here. It’s got an inscription on it…”
Boltac wrangled a stepladder over to the wall and lifted the lamp from its resting place. As soon as he touched its handle, the crystal in the center of the lamp flickered to life. “Yeah,” Boltac said, rubbing the dust from the letters that were cut into the bottom of the Lantern’s base. “It says, ‘Burns with the Flame of a True Heart.’ Well, it’s not much of a flame, is it? But at least you don’t have to carry oil for it.”
He handed the Lantern to the Farm Boy. As soon as the boy touched the handle, the Lantern blazed with a brilliant light; so bright, Boltac realized it had been a long, long time since he had cleaned the store. He closed his eyes to stop the pain.
“Wow,” said the Farm Boy.
“Give me that,” snapped Boltac, snatching the Lantern from the boy’s hand. The lamplight returned to a dull flicker.
“How much is it?”
“More than you can afford,” Boltac grumbled as he hung the Lantern back on the peg.
“That’s okay,” said the Farm Boy in a fresh-faced and agreeable way that made Boltac hate him all the more, “what I really need is a sword.”
“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. Keep an open mind for me. We’ve got pikes, bows, warhammers, battle axes, halberds, flails, morningstars, maces and the largest selection of fine daggers this side of the mountains.”
“I don’t want a mace. I want a sword.”
“Of course you do. And once again, Boltac’s has you covered! We’ve got short swords, long swords, broadswords, rapiers, cutlasses, sabers, scimitars, shishkas, slabas–did I mention, the finest selection of daggers of quality this side of the mountains? While it’s true that most of our blades have never been tested in battle, this is in keeping with our philosophy of passing the savings and the Glory on to you.”
“Well, uh, I’m afraid…”
“Afraid? A big, strapping lad like you? Don’t be ridiculous. Why, after you’ve been properly outfitted by Uncle Boltac, you’ll have nothing to fear in this world. You’ll be able to take on a Dragon with one hand and an OwlBear with the other. And therein lies the value of quality equipment.”
“No, it’s just that I’m afraid those beautiful swords,”–his eyes grew wide as he looked at them–“are all too expensive for me.”
The smile drained from Boltac’s face, but he continued as if he hadn’t just been kicked in the wallet. “Don’t be silly. At Boltac’s, we have equipment to fit every budget.” He kicked a bucket of swords that sat next the counter. “Have a look at our discount bucket.”
The Farm Boy pulled a sword from the bucket and then dropped it back in quickly. “This sword still has blood on it!”
“That’s how you know it works! A gold piece gets you the pick of the barrel.”
“A gold piece?” said the lad, looking concerned.
“Well,” said Boltac, who was starting to get a very bad feeling about the entire transaction, “At Boltac’s there’s always room to negotiate. But try a few; see how you like the balance and whatnot.”
“I’ve been trying to save money to buy a sword, sir. Scrounging for herbs, seeing if anyone needs rats killed. But no one needs rats killed. And the countryside is bare for miles around…” He trailed off.
Boltac nodded knowingly. The only vermin that plagued Robrecht was an infestation of down-on-their-luck Adventurers. “I understand how it is. And how much did you say you have been able to save?”
“Not enough, I’m afraid. So I was wondering if I could rent a sword.”
“RENT A SWORD?” Boltac shouted. “Do you not see the sign?” he asked, pointing at the sign that clearly read, “All Sales Final.”
“I can’t read, sir.”
“Oh, of course not.”
“Please sir, it’s so I can rescue the Love of my Life. She was taken, you see. Abducted by Scoundrels.”
“Oh, well, that changes everything,” said Boltac, as his face grew hard. “Tell me more?” he asked, as if it were a dare.
“Well, sir, she is a Priestess of Dar. And, well…”
“Aren’t they supposed to be virgins? Those Priestesses of Dar?”
The young man blushed and said, “It’s more of a suggestion than a rule, sir. If you know what I mean.” His face grew serious. “But if it helps, I was a virgin.”
“Help? How would that help?”
“She’s gone and got herself into trouble. I’ve gotten word from a friend that she’s being held in a tower and requires a Hero to rescue her.”
“So what’s keeping this broad from walking outta that tower herself?”
“Broad? Sir, you speak of the Love of my Life–”
“No offense, but your life hasn’t been that long yet.”
”–and she’s been placed at the top of the tower and sleeps a deathless sleep under an Evil Spell.”
“En-henh. That’s a Sleeping Beauty, kid,” Boltac said. He was about to explain that the Sleeping Beauty was the name of a con game–popular among some of Robrecht’s less-than-upstanding citizens–whereby a young man was seduced, lured into a trap, and relieved of any valuable items he might have. Like, for instance, a borrowed sword. But the Farm Boy had bolted from the barn, and Boltac could see that there was no catching him.
“Yes, she is a real beauty, sir. Asleep or awake. I knew you would understand. So, if I had a sword, I could go and rescue her. And there would certainly be Treasure after I defeated the monsters that have been set to protect her from all but the bravest and most faithful Hero. Understand, I have no care for this Treasure. Only my lady Love. So all the valuables would be yours. All that for loaning me a sword.”
Boltac winced under the onslaught of the boy’s sincerity. “But just a sword? I mean, armor would help too, right?”
“Yes, it would, but…”
“And some healing potions, you know, just to be safe.”
“Well, of course, but…”
“And perhaps a flying steed. White, with large flapping wings.”
“You have a flying steed?” the boy asked in awe.
“Even if I did, you couldn’t afford it.”
“But, we’re talking about a loan.”
“No, you’re talking about a loan. I’m sorry, you’re just gonna have to find yourself another Priestess of Eternally Questionable Virtue, kid.”
“Look, I’m not asking for armor or a flying horse, I’m just asking to borrow a sword.”
Boltac looked the boy dead in the eyes and said, “I’m not giving you any discounts.”
“It’s not a discount. It’s a loan.”
“It’s the worst kind of discount. It’s a 100% discount!”
“But I’d bring it back. Maybe with a few nicks, but definitely covered in Glory.”
“Oh, Glory is it? Would that enhance the retail value?”
“Yes, yes,” he said eagerly, unaware of the trap he was falling into.
“Because you are such a great fighter.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Powerful, strong,” Boltac prompted.
“Yes.”
“Ready for danger from any quarter.”
“I might not look like much, sir, but I’ll be a mighty Hero yet.”
“All you need is a sword? Is that right?”
“Yes, please, sir. Please. Haven’t you ever been young and in Love?”
Boltac’s face soured. “I was never young. Look, kid, I’m not going to loan you a sword. But I do have an old mace I keep behind the counter, you know, in case of trouble. It’s not much to look at, but it’s always been lucky for me. I like to think it would be good luck for you. Would you like to see it?”
“Very much.”
Boltac lifted the mace up from behind the counter. As he raised the weapon high in the air, the lad’s trusting, cow-like eyes followed it, studying every detail of the well-worn wood, the wrapped leather handle, and the business end studded with heavy iron nails. Boltac saw the lad move from disappointment to hope. “Yes,” his eyes seemed to say, “a mace. I could do it with a mace.”
Boltac hit him right between the eyes and knocked him out cold.