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Ron departed the Sulfur Ash Inn with Glenn trailing behind. The warrior druid made a quick nod of acknowledgement to Mardin, who was at a table with two men in leather armor. Each was seated on the bench to either side of the man-at-arms.
Glenn didn’t allow his gaze to linger. Best to let the thieves from the rival guild—rival to the guild in Three Hills City—think that they’d been overlooked as inn patrons. The warrior druid carried his spear, so Glenn knew it might come to a fight.
Once outside Ron halted, looked both ways, and then began a line of conversation with Glenn that focused on estimated time for the wagons to be ready, anticipated cargo, the possible need for additional horses. Not satisfied, he continued, assigning Glenn to secure travel provisions for the party, drivers, and hired men-at-arms. Derek would secure oats for the horses due to the harsh terrain. He discussed travelling further south, to Fountain Springs.
Glenn nodded and occasionally asked a question, such as a preference between beef or goat jerky, or potatoes or carrots, radishes or onions. The gnome healer thought he was playing his part fairly well.
Periodically the pair of adventurers slowed to allow other nighttime travelers to bypass or cross ahead of them. This part of the city was better built-up than where Glenn and Kirby fought Nickson. Wider streets and more posts with Light Spells meant fewer shadows. Still, the gnome was happy to have a warrior walking beside him.
Glenn didn’t dare turn around to see if they were being followed. If Ron did, Glenn didn’t catch him doing it.
Then they made a turn, heading back toward where their horses were stabled. Where Blizz and Simmer watched and cared for them.
Ron’s anger had ebbed, but Glenn’s concern for the bandy-legged, old animal handler hadn’t. He sort of guessed why Ron chose a roundabout route. To give Kirby and Derek, and Marigold, the opportunity to get the jump on the two guild thieves.
They finally made it to the stables which, of course, were locked up.
Ron stood at the side door, knocked once. “Blizz,” he whispered. “This is Lysine. Jax has accompanied me.”
A moment later Simmer lifted the latch and let the pair of adventurers in. A look of relief spread across the wide-eyed driver’s face. “Mr. Lysine, Blizz is over here.” He signaled for them to follow.
“Return the bar to its place,” Ron said over his shoulder to Glenn, then followed Simmer past a dozen stabled horses to where Blizz lay, sprawled out on a spread of straw. A rag pillow supported his head. Dried blood caked around his nose and swollen lips indicated the severity of the beating he’d endured.
“He’s alive,” Simmer said, “but I can’t get him to wake up. They said if I left the stables before sunrise, they’d kill me, and finish Blizz, too.” The driver looked up at several other drivers lying in hammocks. The dim lantern light revealed several nods in affirmation of Simmer’s statement.
Glenn moved to begin his spell, but Ron placed a hand on the gnome healer’s shoulder. “Allow me to utilize a Minor Cure Spell. You have expended much of your healing ability already this day, and I have yet to utilize any spells this day.”
Glenn wasn’t eager to feel the pain the half-goblin animal handler suffered. Nevertheless, he wanted to heal the loyal hireling.
Ron placed a hand on his chest, where the wooden symbol of Gaia hung, and uttered the words. He then touched the old half-goblin. Within a minute, most of the swelling that afflicted Blizz’s face disappeared. The dried blood remained. After a second spell the injuries from which the blood had welled were gone.
The old animal handler stirred to consciousness and a wide smile split his face.
“Mr. Lysine and Mr. Jax, I knew you’d show up. And I thank you.”
“It is us,” Ron said, “that should be thanking you.”
Simmer’d watched the healing. He stepped back and looked away, at the stable floor.
The warrior druid got to his feet, and examined Simmer. The man had a black eye.
“I told them where you were staying,” the driver said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They were going to beat me like they done Blizz.”
“Rest assured,” Ron said to the remorseful driver, “the matter is being addressed by Kalgore and Gurk.”
“Oooh,” Blizz said, “payback’s a coming around.” A wicked, pointed-tooth grin filled his face. “If there’s two better porters of payback in this black city to deliver it, no mother’s whore of a demon’d want to meet them.”
Glenn and Ron sat at a table in the corner of the tavern attached to the Dusty Brick Inn. Ron was on his second ale while Glenn nursed the mead in his clay mug. While it wasn’t sweet, the gnome could taste the honey.
It was closing in on midnight, and Ron had rented a large room for the party. Petie’d landed on a post outside about a half hour earlier. The familiar bobbed and warbled, indicating everything was okay, before flying off.
The tavern scene was familiar to Glenn. A wooden-plank floor with round tables and wooden chairs. It leaned toward a bar from the American Old West, but with an Irish pub influence. Visiting Monsters, Maces and Magic taverns was sort of like visiting a string of hotels. All the rooms looked mostly the same.
The person or persons who thought up this Monsters, Maces and Magic game world, in many ways, lacked imagination. Or motivation to use imagination.
“Do you ever get scared, here, Lysine?” Glenn asked. He didn’t exactly plan to ask that question, but the words somehow slipped out. The gnome healer shrugged to himself and pressed on. “I get scared a lot, but seems like you never are.”
The warrior druid took a long drink and set his tall mug down on the worn table. “I believe each of us experiences fear, my friend.” He suppressed a smile. “Even Kalgore the Courageous.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Despite what your feel inside, you have accounted for yourself well. Fought with the heart of the stoutest of warriors.”
Glenn looked up at his party’s leader, and shook his head. He took a long drink.
“It was you, Jax, who defeated the husk mummy, despite the terror in confronting such a vile creature. Without your valor, all of us would have perished.”
“Once, and I got lucky.”
“Have you forgotten the swamp harpy confrontation?”
“No.” Glenn shook his head again. “But when it comes to a fight, I hardly make a difference.”
“Your character class is a healer. The combat tables are least favorable, equal to that of magic users.” He tapped an index finger on the table. “A party consisting entirely of warriors would not fare nearly as well compared to one balanced with an assortment of character classes.”
Glenn laughed. “Five warriors like Kalgore against us? They’d hack us to pieces.”
A rare smirk of humor crossed Ron’s face. “What if Marigold released a Slumber Spell? Even if the warriors did prevail, how long would it take them to recover from their inevitable wounds? What might happen if they met with a Wandering Creatures Encounter while so wounded?”
Still unconvinced, Glenn asked, “How do you deal with being scared?”
Ron signaled for the olive-skinned waitress to deliver another drink for himself and Glenn. “During my undergraduate studies, I researched and wrote a report discussing B-17 bomber crews of the 8th Army Air Force battling against the Third Reich during World War II. The crews fought in horrendous weather conditions, against determined foes. They endured both waves of Nazi fighters and eighty-eight millimeter anti-aircraft guns sending up tremendous flak barrages.
“A high percentage of bombers and crews were lost during missions over Germany and occupied France. Yet most crewmen continued to fly against the enemy. The targets selected, the weather, what the enemy would throw against them...was out of their control. Mission after mission, how could that not be frightening? What the crews could control was how well they did their job and how well they looked after each other. How could that not be bravery?”
Glenn slowly spun his mug on the table while pondering Ron’s words. “So, as party leader, you sort of see yourself as the pilot? And each adventure is a mission with dangers, some known and others not?”
“I believe you have missed my point, Jax.” Ron glanced up at the wooden beams above, supporting the second floor. “Each person has the potential within him- or herself to overcome paralyzing fear. To do what is right, and just and prevail.”
When Glenn didn’t respond, Ron continued. “An observation I once heard on a Youtube video is relevant to this conversation. It described life as tragedy tainted by malevolence. While one might argue that as an accurate description of the true world—our world—evidence, at least anecdotal evidence, indicates such is the state of things in this aberrant concurrent world we now inhabit.”
The warrior druid leaned toward the gnome, his gaze intense. “Despite such egregious conditions, I have undertaken to ensure all in our party achieves the opportunity to return home.”
He leaned back. “I believe we, as a party, can surmount this world’s malevolence.”
Glenn always wondered what made Ron tick. He knew logic and determination were at the core, driving him.
“Lysine, I think you’re at least as brave as any B-17 crewmember.”
“Your complement is appreciated, Jax, but overstated.”
The discussion with Ron was less logical and precise. It was more wandering than he was used to hearing from the party’s leader. He was probably as unprepared for the discussion as Glenn. Maybe even less used to sharing feelings and insights. Ron’s closest friend was Derek. Glenn couldn’t imagine engaging in a deep, revealing conversation with that jerk.
The gnome pushed his drink aside. “How many bomber crewmen ever stood against a manticore, with only a spear and sword?”
“That statement implies I stood alone against such a creature. Clearly, I did not.”
“Now it’s you who’s missing the point.”