If the directive held any sway over Thane, he didn’t show it. The Troll thundered on through the swirling snow, even as the sun threatened to slip behind the black brambles of the Green Span’s winter canopy. The driving wind bit at Poldo’s skin, and clumps of ice built up in his mustache and tugged at his lips.
Several Wood Gnomes took what shelter they could in the fur on the back of the Troll’s shoulders. When they caught Poldo’s gaze, Red Squirrel shrieked a tiny imperative at the top of his miniature lungs. It was barely audible over the howl of the frosty wind.
“I’m sure he just didn’t hear me,” said Poldo.
“Hello, Kaitha.” Thane’s breath was a white cloud against the deepening blue of the winter evening. “My name is Thane.”
As one, the Wood Gnomes shot Poldo a look of uniform apprehension; when you are being carried through a blizzard at breakneck speed, it is best to be carried by someone of sound mind.
“He’s just rehearsing, I think,” Poldo assured them.
“We’ve met before… though not like this,” Thane managed labored breaths. “But I’ve helped you before… and I’m… here to help again.”
Red Squirrel chittered again.
“No regrets at all!” said Poldo. “Listen, if nothing else, it’s clear that he needs our help. He’s in no state to deal with the bannermen or the guild. Besides, he shall have to stop eventually!” Poldo’s attempt to reassure the Domovoy was weakened by his own doubts. The Troll ran with the single-mindedness of a golem, sprinting past every limit of endurance that the Gnome imagined for him. He moved faster than a carriage, sometimes galloping, sometimes sprinting, always pressing northward as fast as his huge muscles could carry him.
“Probably,” Poldo conceded, pulling his cloak tighter around himself.
“Hello, Kaitha. My name is Thane.” The Troll breathed the words like a mantra. “Hello, Kaitha. My name is Thane.”
Kaitha waved.
The crowd roared from all around her. Banners hung from windows and the deep crags of the Ridge. People in the throng held up handmade signs with words of adulation and encouragement, though it was apparent that some had been repurposed from when the Golden Dawn had marched to the Dungeon Gate mere weeks ago. The laziest sign bearers had simply painted a streak through the words “GOLDEN DAWN” but left the signs otherwise unchanged. It looked like some crazed editor had gone on a redlining bender through the city.
“Smile, too,” Gorm growled from her side. He stood with her at the head of the Heroes of the City as they paraded toward the Dungeon Gate.
“You first,” said the Elf.
“I am smiling!”
“Is that what that is?” Kaitha gave him a dubious sidelong glance.
“Aye! We’re doing ‘triumphant heroes marching to victory.’”
“Ugh, no. That’s what the Golden Dawn did,” said Heraldin from behind them.
“I thought we were doing ‘grim and determined stoical heroes walking to the job,’” Kaitha said, as the small procession came to a halt next to a hardwood stage covered in banners of every hue. King Johan walked up to the podium and the crowd erupted in cheers.
“Right,” said Laruna.
“Wait, have I been the only one smilin’ and greetin’ folk since we got here?” Gorm asked.
“Is that what that was?” asked Jynn.
“I thought you were baring your teeth and menacing them with an axe,” said Heraldin.
Gorm looked nonplussed. “What? No! How could ye think that?”
“You did make that baby cry,” said Laruna.
“I assumed you were doing ‘grim hero with a dark past.’” Heraldin thought for a moment. “Or at least a drunk past.”
“Nobody else thought we were doin’ ‘triumphant heroes.’” The Dwarf grimaced in a way that was almost distinguishable from his smile. “Nobody else has been smilin’ and wavin’?”
Kaitha thought back over arriving in guild coaches to the square, their rousing introduction by guild promoters, and their parade to the final podium. “I waved when you asked me to,” she offered.
“Well, ain’t that a fine thing,” grumbled Gorm.
Johan launched into a speech like a lunar cycle; it had bright and dark parts, a tide of applause flowed in and out with its rhythm, and it kept going around in circles. The king spoke with conviction and scintillating energy, but when he paused in between themes Kaitha could see a sheen of sweat on his brow and his eyes darting about like a cornered animal. She smiled, completely spoiling her stoic effect.
Gorm’s almost-grin grew as the speech neared its end. The king seemed to be inviting correction with increasing desperation.
“The dragon—and there definitely is a dragon—is the greatest threat to our nation. These heroes know it. They know what they’re about to face, don’t they?” Johan looked down at them with wretched anticipation, waiting for some sort of lifeline.
But the heroes had planned for this. Gorm and companions nodded respectfully and looked back up at the king with blank, expectant smiles. Denied a last chance at a fight over the truth, Johan was left alone with the facts. And the fact was that it was ten minutes past time for the quest to begin. With a final, empty wish of good luck and gods’ speed, Johan ordered the Dungeon Gate opened.
The heroes continued their parade toward the yawning portal. They walked two by two, uniformly determined and stoic, past the cheering crowds. Flower petals were released, as was customary, but this deep in winter the only blooms available on the mountain were frostgarnets. Their crimson petals looked to Kaitha like a spray of blood drifting through the air at the lazy pace of a memory. Just like the fountain from a Troll’s jugular as an arrow pierced it. And his eyes filled with pain in the instant before she fled, but she should have—
“Lass?” said Gorm. “Your glowstone.”
Kaitha snapped from her reverie just as they passed under the shadow of the gate. The other heroes already had small points of light hovering above their heads like tiny guardian angels. She took her own glowstone from her belt pouch and blew on the milky crystal. The stone began to glow with increasing intensity as it flew into place by her head.
She took a deep breath. The air smelled of damp stone and moldering bones and an adventure about to start. “Ready?” she asked the others.
“Whatever comes,” said Gorm.
