“They’re just set in their ways.” Thane waited for the last of the Wood Gnomes to scamper up his leg before he set off down the road. “It’s hard for people like that to deal with… well, with me.”
“The problem is their smug, smarmy overconfidence! They won’t give a new idea a chance, let alone a new person. They can’t accept what it would say about them if a new person brought something good to society.”
“If they… they didn’t see things the way you wanted them to…” rumbled Thane.
Grim realization came upon Poldo like dawn over a battlefield, and he was horrified by what he saw. “We never give anyone different a chance…” He caught Red Squirrel’s eye peering out from the Troll’s fur. “I never gave her a chance.”
The Wood Gnome chirruped and nodded.
“I just dismissed Mrs. Hrurk’s insights because… well, because she’s not an old analyst like me. Her information is sound and her logic can’t be faulted, but I…” Poldo shook his head and gave a bitter chuckle. “All the world’s evils are so much easier to spot in someone else.”
“Never gave her a chance,” the Troll repeated, lost in his own thoughts.
“Well, all the world’s evils are only possible to fix in ourselves,” the Gnome said. “Let’s draft a new letter to Feista. And then a letter to Emblin and Stormbreaker. We also must tell my broker to divest ourselves of all our shares of the Dragon of Wynspar’s loot.”
Several more Wood Gnomes peeked out of Thane’s coat, squeaking a chorus of surprised questions.
“I am absolutely serious. I’m putting my faith in Mrs. Hrurk, and that means our shares in the dragon’s hoard must go,” said Poldo. “Every last one.”
Chapter 12
“There’s far too many for that,” hissed Kaitha.
“No more than a dozen.” Gorm peered over a boulder. Across the rocky slope, men and women in red and white robes carefully unloaded the wagon. The explosive barrels were loaded onto small carts that workers wheeled through a wooden gate into the side of the mountain. Beyond it, a strange fortress loomed over the basalt plateau. A new fort bulged from the ruins of an ancient one, like a Dire Hermit Crab living in a discarded helmet. Old Stennish ruins were carved into the northern crags of Mount Wynspar, covered with carvings of flowing angles. Wooden palisades and freshly painted walls poked through the gaps in the crumbling ruin and hung out its yawning doorway.
As the workers pushed their cargo into the wooden facade of the fort, more people came streaming out the wide door.
“Okay, maybe two dozen,” said Gorm, dropping back behind the stone. “Still, we can take ’em. Ye drop in, I sneak round that ravine there, and Gaist runs round the other way. Then we knock ’em all out.”
“Before the alarm goes up.” Kaitha’s voice was level, but her brows rose on a tide of skepticism.
Gaist shook his head.
Gorm scowled and scratched his beard. “Well, ye… ye use a few arrows—”
“Arrows are for fatalities, Gorm,” said Kaitha. “We can’t kill anyone.”
“Lass, these are the people conspirin’ to fake the dragon attacks. They’re unloading explosives that was smuggled to a secret site where they ain’t supposed to have one. They ain’t innocents.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just day workers at an industrial forge we know nothing about. Or researchers looking into the curse of the Winter’s Shade,” the ranger said.
“Ye know those ain’t the case. They’re wearing Tandos’ colors.”
“Exactly my point! Shooting people is the sort of thing you want to be really certain of, and that goes double for clergy in the king’s patron temple!” Kaitha hissed. “Johan is itching to declare us villains. If you’re going to kill some priests without cause, you might as well do up the paperwork for our executions while you’re at it.”
Gaist inclined his head and blinked, conceding the Elf’s point while maintaining a posture that was very clearly pro-fatality.
Gorm opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again with a snort. “I suppose ye got a better proposal?”
“Look. There are other entrances to the complex.” She pointed to Mount Wynspar’s northern face. Several gates and doors were visible farther up the mountain, some no larger than a Halfling’s hole, several as big as a stable’s gate, and one opening as wide as a street built inexplicably high in a sheer cliff face. “We can find one with fewer guards, get in, and see what they’re hiding. If it’s nothing, we sneak back out. If it’s as bad as you think it is, we gather proof to use as leverage.”
“Simple as that?” snorted the Dwarf. “We just stroll in and have a look around?”
She smiled in a way that got his guard up. “Well, we could just walk if—”
“Don’t ye say it,” Gorm growled.
“Every one of them is wearing red and white,” Kaitha insisted. “We each get a set of robes, and we can walk right in the front door.”
Gaist slapped his forehead.
“Ye know I hate the henchman uniform ruse,” the Dwarf hissed through his teeth.
“I know it, but I don’t understand it. How can anyone hate the henchman uniform ruse? It’s a classic,” said Kaitha. “It’s page one of the Heroes’ Guild Handbook. Everybody knows the henchman uniform ruse.”
“Aye, including most henchmen,” grumbled the Dwarf.
“It still works! If you keep your distance and don’t draw attention to yourself, even cautious henchmen will fall for it,” said Kaitha, already starting along the rocky path toward another entrance.
“They can’t possibly all be that stupid,” Gorm muttered, trundling after her.
“There you go underestimating people again,” laughed Kaitha.
They found a small spring on the outskirts of the facility. A strong flow of crystalline water burbled from the rocks and, more importantly, a steady flow of young Tandosians lugged pails back and forth from a side entrance to the bubbling water. Several rocky outcroppings and patches of scrub brush surrounded the spring, perfect for lying in wait or concealing unconscious and recently disrobed Tandosians. It wasn’t long before Gorm, Gaist, and Kaitha wore a set of crimson and white robes each.
“See? Easy,” Kaitha remarked. “And it hardly took any time at all.”
“Ain’t inside yet,” grumbled Gorm.
