“Are we prepared?” Brody addressed his crew.

“I’ve got the horses saddled and tents packed.”

“I’ve got swords sharpened and oiled.”

“And I’ve got my goblet.”

Brody glared. “This is no drinking game, Delaney.”

“Course not. But there’ll be inns, surely. Tents every night’ll give me a crick in m’back. Very hard to quest with a crick in your back. And inns have taverns which might run low on tankards. Best be prepared.”

Brody sighed. “You’re our cartographer. Where’re the maps?”

“I’ve got the maps…and my goblet.”

Nights passed in inns with taverns filled with tankards. More were spent in tents in the deepest woods with no ale nor need for a goblet. Until they stumbled upon the very band of thieves they hunted.

Brody gathered the crew. “We circle, and on my signal, attack!”

Delaney cleared his throat. “Perhaps diplomacy first? They’ve a fire and drink. Good cheer alone might induce them to cooperate.” Brody grunted. “I’ll give it a go. If I can’t secure the artifact, I’ll signal for the slaughtering.”

Begrudgingly, Brody agreed. Delaney entered the firelight, goblet raised, and received a raucous greeting while the crew waited. An hour. Two. Brody squirmed.

“Long enough. Attack.” They charged into the clearing to find Delaney in a drunken stupor, along with the rest. But upon sight of the armed crew, the bandits snatched up weapons.

“So much for diplomacy,” Delaney slurred. Setting his goblet aside, he drew his sword. “Barbarians. Never could let a goblet solve their problems.”

Photo by Debby Hudson