Quests of the Kings

by Robert Evert

  “An old man?”

  She pulled out the sketch of the long, winding street. “Do you want to roam around town, looking for this place? Old people know everything. Show this to someone who won’t talk your ear off; see if anybody can tell us where it is.”

  Artis examined the picture. “Nat, this street’s too big for Winros Minor. There must be, what, forty dead ends coming off of it? And it twists and turns. I can tell you right now, there isn’t a street like this here.”

  “Then ask if anybody’s seen any adventurers. We have to find Sir Edris, or Randell, or somebody powerful enough to help us. Chances are they’ll all be wherever they think the golden harp is, and the only real clues we have are Brago’s—” She paused to let a group of laughing children skip by. “We only have the map and the references to the cathedral.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you at the cathedral in one hour.”

  “Two hours! First, find an inn, then snoop around. We need information.”

  “Okay, but don’t get into any trouble.”

  “When have I ever gotten into trouble?”

  Artis stared pointedly at her still-bruised face.

  “Oh, never mind!” She shooed him away like she’d done the merchants. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  He disappeared into the crowd.

  Natalie called after him. “Art?”

  Artis reappeared. “What?”

  Should she say it?

  “Thanks for coming with me. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “What are friends for?” He gave an exaggerated bow. “Take your time and enjoy the cathedral. I’ll see you when I see you.”

  He disappeared into the crowd again.

  She sighed.

  What was she going to do with him? Whenever she thought she had her feelings figured out…

  Was he really going to move away? Or was that some sort of ploy?

  Why the hell was she thinking about that now? There was a crazy killer after her! She had to focus on one thing at a time—and staying alive took priority over her feelings, whatever they might be.

  Natalie studied the cathedral’s distant spires. She liked buildings, especially old buildings. It was as though a secret door or a hidden treasure could be around every corner. And the Cathedral of the Stars was beyond old. Legend had it the cathedral had been the first building constructed when people came to this part of the continent, and some even insisted the cathedral had already been there when people arrived—though who built it, nobody could say.

  But with the cathedral was the clergy. Although Natalie loved old buildings, she feared men of religion. Nobody else held such power. An accusation of witchcraft by a man of the cloth could get even a nobleman burnt alive. And Natalie had known more than one cleric who’d temporarily forsaken his vow of chastity whenever a pretty girl or young boy caught his eye.

  Natalie hoisted her tattered pack onto her shoulders and trudged through Winros Minor toward the Cathedral of the Stars. It was a massive building of shiny black stone and high, rectangular windows with red-and-green glass. Statues adorned the many pillars and alcoves. For some reason, they didn’t look quite human. Maybe they were supposed to be angels, or perhaps the sculptor wasn’t that good at carving faces.

  She realized she was wasting time.

  After another glance around, Natalie climbed the stairs to the giant double doors. Singing wafted out from inside, faint and soft, like the babbling of a stream—first high and light, then deep and rumbling. It blended wonderfully with the incessant chimes jingling throughout the town. Although she wouldn’t admit it to Artis, she could have stood there all day, listening.

  Suddenly, the doors swung open, forcing Natalie back. Three elderly women from the peasant class exited the cathedral, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Natalie slipped in before the doors closed.

  Throughout the transept, hundreds of candle flames bobbed and danced, sending up thin trails of spiraling smoke that mixed with the scent of melting beeswax. Their ghostly glow bathed the white walls and rows of stone columns in a soft orange dimness that felt oddly comforting. Not knowing what else to do, Natalie sat on a bench at the back of the nave and listened to a choir of young boys practice. Glancing up, she gasped.

  High above was a dome of midnight blue with thousands of gems that twinkled red and yellow and green, like shimmering stars. The dome seemed to change color, as though clouds were moving across its surface. Natalie stared, head thrown back, mouth open. It was beautiful—absolutely beautiful.

  “You might not want to look up like that,” somebody whispered.

  Natalie jumped with a startled cry. Next to her sat an elderly cleric, smiling affably. He tapped the base of his head. “You’ll hurt your neck.” He rubbed his neck and shoulders. “Trust me. I’ve done the same thing many a time, I can assure you!”

  “What?” Natalie said, more involuntarily than not hearing what the old man had said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I was just looking around. Is that okay?”

  “Perfectly. And please, stay as long as you like.” Concern seeped into his wrinkled face. “Are you all right, young man?”

  Natalie wasn’t sure if she should correct him. She didn’t want to pretend to be something she wasn’t, but disguising herself as a boy might actually help her hide from Brago.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m fine, sir. Thank you. Why do you ask?”

  The cleric leaned back to watch the choir practice. “When you’re as old as I am, and in my profession, you tend to see certain things from time to time.” He glanced none-too-subtly at her forehead. “Did your father do that to you?”

  Natalie felt the lumps under her bangs. Most of the swelling had gone down, and the bruises were now a yellowish brown rather than a bright purple, but it still looked as if she’d been severely beaten.

  “No, not my father. A random person attacked me. Probably wanted to rob me, but I fought him off.”

  The cleric smiled sadly at her. “How can I help you, my son? Do you need a place to stay? Food, perhaps?”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir, but really, I’m fine.” Then Natalie added, “But if you’d sit and keep me company, I’d love to hear about your cathedral.” She sighed. “It’s beautiful. Calming and moving at the same time, you know?”

  “I do indeed know. But I must warn you, it is often said people are at their greatest peril when they ask a man of the cloth to sit and talk!” The cleric laughed louder than he should’ve. Across the nave, the choir director scowled at him. “What would you like to know?”

  “Well”—Natalie shrugged—“anything you care to share.” She nodded toward the altar. “Is it permitted to look around?”

  “Oh, by all means. As long as we do not draw attention to ourselves, you understand. Come.” In a series of slow movements, the elderly cleric rose and adjusted his baggy brown robes. “I’ll show you want I can.”

  Natalie followed, head craned back despite her complaining neck. “How does it do that? I’m guessing candlelight reflects off of some sort of gems or glass up there, but how do they move? They seem to move exactly like the stars do, but only faster.”

  “Yes. Miraculous, isn’t it? Many a night I’ve lain on this floor and gazed up in wonder. As to how it is done, I have been instructed to say it is the will of the gods.” He leaned closer and whispered, “But to tell you the truth, I think it’s magic!” He winked.

  “Magic?” Natalie repeated, unsure if he was making a joke. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

  The old cleric strolled into an alcove that housed a larger-than-life statue similar to the ones outside. In fact, they all appeared to be modeled after the same person. “One can never know what is true, until all possibilities are considered. Remember that, my son.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He inspected the statue.

  “Now, this is Father Atavious, the founder of my Order…”

  • • •

  For nearly an hour, the cleric walked
Natalie around the nave, showing her the scores of statues lining the walls, and lecturing her about the men they represented and the life lessons they’d learned before they died. Natalie followed along, nodding and commenting periodically, trying to appear interested. Eventually, they came to the chancel.

  “And this is where the real work is conducted,” the cleric said, standing behind the altar.

  Natalie wandered about in wonderment. With the soft lighting and the choir chanting, she felt like she was walking through a pleasant dream. “This is really amazing.”

  “You should see it when it’s full of souls. It’s heavenly.”

  Then Natalie remembered why she was there: Brago’s sketch was of the chancel; she needed to figure out what it meant.

  “So…” She paused, trying to come up with a question that wouldn’t raise suspicion. “What happens here, exactly? At this part of the church, I mean.”

  “Haven’t you been to a service before?” the cleric asked, arching a grey eyebrow.

  Flustered, Natalie stammered, “Y-yes—yes, of—of course,” but then thought better of her lie. She frowned apologetically. “That is…no, sir, I haven’t. You see, I have my mother and five children to support.”

  “Five children?”

  The choir faltered.

  “Oh!” Natalie whispered. “No, they aren’t mine! I mean, not mine, mine. They’re my brothers and sisters.”

  The cleric seemed relieved.

  “I have to work, or they don’t eat,” said Natalie. “I work every day. And sometimes even then we don’t have enough.”

  “What about your father?”

  Natalie shook the self-pity from her voice. “He died several years back. I’m the oldest—well, I’m actually the second oldest. But my brother, Robbie…he wasn’t born right. The older kids try to help out by doing odd jobs for people, but they’re still pretty young. So it’s just me.”

  For a moment, Natalie thought she’d cry—all the years of built-up frustration and sadness wanted to explode out of her—until a warm hand touched her shoulder.

  “Then you need not worry about services,” the cleric said. “You’re already doing the work of the gods, so be comforted.”

  Natalie nodded.

  “Have you ever thought of entering into the religious life?” the cleric asked. “The Church would not only take care of you, but also your family.”

  At this, Natalie choked on both a sob and a chuckle. “Sir, I can honestly say I’ve never once thought about becoming a man of the cloth.”

  “Then perhaps the calling will enter the hearts of one of your siblings.”

  Natalie pictured Robbie becoming a cleric. The image made her grin. He certainly was easy to talk to. Whenever she took him on walks along the river, Natalie told him all of her deepest secrets and desires. To his credit, he never judged her. Of course, he also never said anything. He merely gurgled and smiled as they strolled.

  The old cleric admired the dome. “Being poor isn’t a sin, or anything to be embarrassed about, young man. In many ways, you are far richer than the nobility and the merchants and the adventurers who come here.”

  Natalie’s breath caught. “Ad—adventurers? Do the adventurers come here, the famous ones?”

  “They all come here, sooner or later. The rich and famous, and those who simply like to roam the wild lands looking for things long since forgotten.” The cleric’s voice became more animated. “In fact, when I was not much older than yourself, I ran into Sir Barton the Black! Spoke to him and everything, not far from this very spot, don’t you know. A very kind man he was, despite what happened to him in the end.”

  The cleric paused as if remembering some terrible tragedy. Natalie had never heard of Sir Barton the Black, or how he died. Still, she didn’t dare ask, for fear of derailing the conversation.

  “Back then, the Church issued the quests,” the cleric went on. “But now, since the kings have taken the responsibility upon themselves, we have little to do with such matters—although I suppose it’s all for the best.” He leaned closer as if to reveal a secret. “It’s all a silly waste of time, if you ask me. Then again”—he shuffled about the chancel examining this and that—“I’d rather the nobility compete over frivolous quests than fight wars. So, perhaps it’s all for a greater good.”

  “Have you…have you ever met any of them? Recently, I mean,” Natalie said, trying to appear only mildly interested. “Sir Edris, perhaps?”

  “Yes, indeed! Sir Edris visits regularly. He’s very generous with his money and supports the Church in many ways. Did you know that his brother, Edros, was once in our Order? He was a scholar of some skill, I’m told. He and Sir Edris were partners in some respects, I believe. What’s that expression? ‘All adventurers begin with the right book’? ‘All books lead to adventure’? I can’t recall how it went. Anyway, Sir Edris often comes here to do research in our libraries. We have some of the oldest books in the world.”

  “Can I meet him?” Natalie mentally cursed herself for sounding too eager.

  The cleric looked down at her with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

  “Now, I understand well the appeal an adventurer’s life has to young boys. I, myself, often dreamt about going off into the uncharted countries, sword in hand, letting the beaten path sweep me to wherever it would. But let me warn you, young man”—his expression grew stern—“adventures can be had no matter what profession you select, and adventurers are not all they appear to be. Some of them are not godly men.”

  “Oh! I know. Believe me! It’s just that I—” Natalie’s mind raced for a plausible reason why she needed to meet the knight. “You see, I sort of met Sir Edris once, a couple of weeks ago, and well…you see…I said something in the heat of the moment I’d like to apologize for, so if he comes here, I’d love to speak with him.”

  The cleric chuckled. “You needn’t worry. They appreciate the alliances and affiliations that come from such things; people of one realm rooting against the adventurers from neighboring realms. In fact, to be completely honest…” He leaned closer again and whispered, “I usually root for Brago!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Natalie hurried out of the Cathedral of the Stars as fast as she could without seeming rude or mentally unhinged, right as Artis was trotting up the stairs.

  “Okay!” Artis said immediately. “I know, I’m early!”

  “That’s fine.” Natalie turned him around and guided him down the way he’d come.

  Great thundering bells in the cathedral’s tower began to ring the dinner hour, startling Natalie. Then bells from other churches joined them. Soon, the entire city rang out.

  “What’s wrong?” Artis asked, trying to keep up.

  “Nothing.” She slipped a glance toward the cathedral. “I’m fine. What did you find out?”

  They slowed as they entered a crowd.

  “I got us a room a few blocks away.”

  “Good. Come on.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nat?”

  “I’ll explain later, okay? Where’s the inn?”

  “This way.” Artis led her to an intersecting street. “But there’s something you need to know.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I—” Artis gave a nervous giggle. “I sort of told the innkeeper you were my wife.”

  Natalie stopped. “You did what?”

  “Well, I had to tell him something!”

  “You should have said I was your brother or something.”

  “I thought you’d knock me upside the head if I said that.”

  “I’m not going to pretend I’m your wife!”

  “What’s to pretend?” he asked, pain showing in the stillness of his face. “Just yell at me like you always do, and everybody will just assume.”

  “Oh, gods!” Natalie tossed her hands. “I’m sorry, but can we just stop talking about marriage and feelings and stuff? I’m so overwhelmed with everything right no
w.” She looked at him, teary-eyed. “I don’t mean to hurt you, but…remember why we’re here? Remember the danger I’m in? I can only handle so much right now.”

  “The reason I said you were my wife,” Artis said calmly, “is because the innkeeper asked me how many people would be using the room, and I told him ‘two.’ The innkeeper replied, ‘Oh, is your lucky wife with you?’ I didn’t know what to say. If I’d said you weren’t my wife, he’d probably think you were the wrong kind of girl, if you know what I mean. So I said you were. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  He nodded toward a quaint, four-story, canary-yellow building. A sign rimmed with tiny silver bells proclaimed it to be the Yellow Rose Inn. “This is it.”

  “Artis! I said get something cheap!”

  “This is cheap,” he said flatly. “Which leads me to the sleeping arrangements. There’s only one room…and one bed. I’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

  Natalie watched Artis stare blankly at the inn, wondering how badly she’d upset him. Then she realized it didn’t matter. She couldn’t deal with that part of her life right now. At any minute she might end up dead, a garrote wrapped around her neck.

  She grumbled a curse. “We’ll take turns, okay? Hurry up. I want to get out of sight.”

  Inside the Yellow Rose Inn, a tall, genial man immediately greeted them.

  “Ah! Master Artis!” The innkeeper exclaimed. “This must be your beautiful—” He turned to Natalie and hesitated.

  Natalie extended her hand like a boy. “I’m his brother, Nat. If he calls me his little wife again, I’ll kick him in the ass!”

  The innkeeper laughed.

  “Sorry,” said Artis. “It’s…it’s kind of a joke, him being my ‘wife’ and everything. We argue like we’re married.”

  “I understand. I have four brothers, myself. The oldest used to call me his ‘little serving wench’ and make me bring him his food. How I hate the miserable cretin.” The innkeeper smiled and bowed. “Enjoy your stay, and please let me know if you require anything. Dinner is already being served, if you’re interested.”