Quests of the Kings

by Robert Evert

  “Ah!” Sir Edris got to his feet and shook the newcomer’s many-ringed hand. “Sir Otto! And Heinrich and, and…” He struggled as he pointed to a squat man with a double-bladed ax hanging from his belt.

  The man with the ax clicked his heels together and bowed. “I am Karl,” he said stiffly, as though not quite sure he’d said it correctly. “Karl of Loc Haven.”

  “Of course you are.” Sir Edris heartily shook Karl’s hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you! Wonderful stuff, simply wonderful! Why, if it weren’t illegal, I’d place a sizable wager that you’ll win this one!”

  Karl bowed again. “Such a saying, much valued coming from you, great sir.”

  “Your king”—Heinrich stroked his coal-black beard, one thick eyebrow rising—“he does not allow wagering?” The way he’d said “your king” seemed to imply an insult. “How exceedingly odd.”

  “What?” Sir Edris huffed, taken aback. “Of course he does! I’m just saying it’s not allowed for us to bet on another adventurer. Why, one of us could easily find the harp, give it to the person we bet on, and make more than the actual prize! It wouldn’t do!”

  Evidently, the others hadn’t thought of that before. Several appeared to be considering the financial possibilities.

  “At any rate,” Sir Edris went on, “it’s about honor and service to one’s king, not the monetary reward!”

  “Quite right.” Sir Otto raised his hand as if making a toast. “Service to one’s king!”

  Others around him repeated these words with solemn nods.

  Reg whispered something into Sir Edris’s ear.

  “Ah! Very good. Thank you, Reginald. I’d nearly forgotten.” With a sweeping hand, Sir Edris gestured to Natalie sitting in the pew behind him. “And this, gentlemen, is my bastard daughter, Natalie.” Natalie bristled as she gave a half-curtsy. “My favorite of the brood, you understand. She and I have gotten quite close—quite close, indeed. In fact, I’d certainly kill anybody who ran afoul with her.”

  This last remark caught the younger adventurers off guard. They bowed nervously to Natalie.

  “Can a woman be a bastard?” Heinrich asked, puzzled. “I’ve always called mine bitches.”

  “That’s what I thought, as well!” said Sir Edris. “However, my good squire, Reginald, here, has assured me that the term applies to both boys and girls.”

  Sir Otto pursed his lips. “No. I respectfully disagree with your accomplished squire. I believe they are, in fact, bitches.”

  “Perhaps,” Heinrich said with a hint of disdain and an unspoken chuckle in his tone, “your King will allow you to place a small wager on the matter?”

  “Surely!” Sir Edris cried. “Five hundred gold says my squire is correct; women can be bastards!” Hearing the sum, the other adventurers wavered in their conversations. “Father Bartholomew will provide the correct answer.” Seeing Heinrich’s reluctance, he pressed his advantage. “Or doesn’t your King pay you enough to afford a mere five hundred gold?”

  Heinrich gritted his teeth. “Very well. I accept. I shall fetch the good Father.”

  “Reg,” said Sir Edris. “Go with him.”

  Heinrich scoffed. “What? Do you believe I would bribe a man of the cloth to side with me?”

  “Of course you would!” Sir Edris snapped. “After what you pulled during the Quest for the Sacred Scarab, I’d expect you to have intercourse with him and then snuggle afterwards!”

  Heinrich started to protest, but then ran to catch up to Reg, who was approaching the elderly cleric now chatting with a bowman dressed in forest green.

  Sir Otto leaned in to Sir Edris. “You must forgive him. He’s still smarting after the Sword of Alexander Quest.”

  Sir Edris guffawed. “I won that, fair as fair!” Then he added, “If he didn’t want it taken in the middle of the night, he shouldn’t have left it lying about his campsite while he slept. Why, that’s the first rule of adventuring!”

  Some of the other adventurers listening didn’t appear to agree. One was about to make his opinion known, but Sir Otto cut him off.

  “Have you heard about Sir Kaye?”

  “Sir Kaye?” Sir Edris repeated, watching Reg interrupt the Father. “What? No. No, I haven’t. What’s that fat lout doing nowadays? I haven’t seen him in a dog’s day, the swine.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Sir Edris cried, now giving Sir Otto his complete attention. “What the hell happened?”

  “A duel.”

  Sir Edris gasped in disbelief. “And he lost? Who did he duel?”

  “Sir Bernard.”

  “Sir Bernard? Never heard of him. Who’s he? And how did he beat Sir Kaye in a duel?”

  Sir Otto grimaced. “Sir Kaye was getting old. You know how it is.”

  “Old? Nonsense! He was no more than three or four years older than myself! Old.” Sir Edris grunted. “He was a damned fine knight. I shall dedicate this mission to him and his memory!”

  “But I—” Karl picked his way through his words. “I thought…I thought you say he be a fat lout swine?”

  Sir Edris ignored him. “Who’s this Sir Bernard? Who does he adventure for?”

  Sir Otto shifted his gaze toward a man barely older than Reg on the other side of the nave. A cluster of other adventurers was packed around him, listening eagerly to everything he had to say. “He’s another of King Lionel’s men.”

  “Bollocks!” Sir Edris watched the young knight telling a story, hands moving about with great energy.

  Again, Sir Otto leaned in to Sir Edris and whispered, “They say he’s incredibly fast.”

  “Fast. I’ll show him fast.” Sir Edris shook his head in disgust. “King Lionel knights anybody with two copper to rub together. It sullies the profession.”

  “I agree. I’ve heard he’s knighted over a thousand men.”

  “A thousand! Good gods! What’s the point? There’s more prestige in being an innkeeper nowadays. The ignorant, yellow-haired bastard. A thousand knights, indeed.” Sir Edris searched the crowd for Reg.

  Reg and Heinrich stood talking to Father Bartholomew in the middle of the dimly lit nave. Heinrich beamed, until the Father said something that made his grin crumble. Reg shook the cleric’s hand.

  “Ah!” Sir Edris brightened. “It appears we have our answer. What of it, Reg? What did the good Father have to say on the matter?”

  “He said I was quite correct. Although the term ‘bitch’ is often used in such situations, the correct term would be ‘bastard.’”

  Sir Edris turned to Natalie still sitting behind him. “Well, there you have it. Now we know!”

  “Wonderful,” Natalie said without enthusiasm.

  “I shall bring the money to you in a few days,” Heinrich said, dejected.

  “What?” Sir Edris cried in mock dismay. “You don’t carry it with you? Ah, very well, very well. Send it to me when you are able to scrape it together.” He shook everybody’s hands as they made to depart. “Good seeing you all! Good luck on the quest! And thanks for chatting—it was very profitable!”

  They wished him good luck in turn, then began to mingle with the other adventurers.

  When they were alone, Sir Edris chuckled. “Five hundred gold. I can’t wait until I beat Heiny again. He doesn’t stand a chance; he’s too predictable.” Then Sir Edris turned wistful. “Reg, did you hear about Sir Kaye?”

  “No, sir, I haven’t. Did he gain more weight?”

  “He’s dead. Lost some duel with—” Sir Edris inclined his head toward Sir Bernard. “Know anything about him?”

  “Just that he’s supposed to be very good with a blade,” Reg replied. “Shame about Sir Kaye. Perhaps we should send some of Heinrich’s money to his widow.”

  That made Sir Edris smile. He patted Reg on the shoulder. “Good thought. Splendid. We’ll make sure she’s doing as well as possible, all things considered. Ah, Kaye. He was a worthy friend and competitor.”

  “Yes, he was, sir. He’ll
be missed.”

  For many moments, Sir Edris stood, frowning at the floor, heedless of the chatter around him, until somebody behind him spoke.

  “Hello, Ed.”

  Sir Edris turned. “Brago!”

  Natalie nearly dove under her pew.

  Sir Edris shook the much shorter man’s hand. “I was hoping you’d turn up. I was worried we were all on the wrong track. Now that you’re here, I know the harp is somewhere nearby. I only need find it before you do!”

  Brago blenched slightly. “Finding it is one thing,” he said with a hint of malice. “Getting it to King Michael is another. I would’ve thought you’d learned that by now.”

  Now it was Sir Edris’s turn to blench. “Quite right. And a valuable lesson that was.”

  Brago and Sir Edris both gazed about the packed nave.

  “Look at all of them, will you?” Sir Edris waved in revulsion at the crowd of young men all talking and laughing together. “I have boots older than most of these boys.”

  “Let’s just hope they don’t get in the way. I’d hate for any of them to get hurt so early in their careers.”

  “Yes, indeed. Not unless they truly deserved it, that is.”

  An uneasy pause hung in the air as the two adventurers continued to survey the crowd.

  “I trust that you are well,” Sir Edris said eventually. “You look it.”

  “You’re very kind. Thank you. I feel well. And yourself?”

  Sir Edris let out a deep breath. “I don’t know. Coming here, I suddenly feel exceedingly old. Have you heard about Sir Kaye?”

  “No. Did he retire?”

  “Permanently, I’m afraid.”

  “How?” Brago asked, sounding genuinely upset.

  “Duel.” Sir Edris subtly lifted his chin toward Sir Bernard, who was now acting out a sword fight. “The pup with the blue cloak.”

  “He beat Kaye?” Brago watched Sir Bernard pretend to parry and counterattack. “Perhaps we should take him down a peg or two, tie him naked to a tree and slather him with meat, perhaps.”

  Sir Edris chuckled like a schoolboy. “Now, that was funny! Sir Glenn never fails to recall that particular story whenever our paths cross.” He sighed. “Ah, those were glorious days, weren’t they?”

  “Have you heard about Sir Glenn?”

  “No. Don’t tell me—”

  “Last summer.”

  “How?”

  “Nobody knows. He was hunting in the Greenwood. Hart or boar, I believe. I can’t recall which. At any rate, they found him with an arrow in the back and wolves eating his carcass.”

  “An arrow! In the back? What kind of cowardly…?” Sir Edris’s face burned red. “Bollocks!”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “If I had, they’d be dead by now—or worse.”

  “Good. Keep me informed if you hear anything. I want in on the retribution.”

  “Of course.”

  They both watched Sir Bernard with unfriendly eyes. Then Reg tapped Sir Edris’s elbow and slid a meaningful glance toward Natalie, who was cowering next to Artis, face white. She could barely breathe.

  “Ah, yes!” Sir Edris said, turning toward her with a grand sweeping motion. “This is my favorite daughter, Natalie.” He added pointedly, “She’s very dear to me, you understand, very dear.”

  Brago bowed to Natalie, hardly taking his eyes from Sir Bernard. “Charmed.”

  Trembling, Natalie squeaked, sweat prickling her still-bruised forehead.

  “I didn’t realize you had a daughter,” Brago remarked to Sir Edris, still watching Sir Bernard. The crowd around Sir Kaye’s slayer burst into laughter. “Have you gotten married? Had I known, I would have sent a gift. The Necklace of Sveya, perhaps.”

  Sir Edris bowed. “I’ll admit it. You won that one, fair as fair. The whole blasted time I was completely in the dark, running about those stinking swamps and everything. Still have nightmares about the snakes. But no, I’m not married. Who has time for such things?”

  “Who, indeed?”

  Three more adventurers entered the nave. Brago squinted at them through the gloom, then turned away.

  “She’s one of my bastard children,” Sir Edris went on. “Illegitimate, you understand.”

  “Wouldn’t the term be ‘bitch’?” Brago asked.

  Sir Edris brightened. “I do believe it’s ‘bastard,’ although I’m not entirely certain. Would you like to place a small wager on the affair? We can ask Father Bartholomew what the correct term is.”

  “No need. I’m sure you’re correct. You always were the wordy one.”

  Over by the chancel, two adventurers began to argue; shouted insults were exchanged, followed by shoving. One drew a sword, as a score of knights leapt between them and pulled the two men apart.

  Brago sniffed. “How I hate the smell of candles.”

  “Really?” said Sir Edris. “I rather enjoy it. It is certainly better than the stench of all these children.”

  Suddenly, a buzz filled the chamber as a procession of boys entered the nave.

  “Speaking of children, what do you suppose this is all about?” Sir Edris asked.

  “I do hope they aren’t going to sing,” muttered Brago. “Frankly, I already give enough money to the clergy. You’d think that’d spare me from their horrid chanting.”

  Sir Edris chuckled and elbowed Brago in the side. “At least we haven’t gotten the sermon yet!”

  “Excuse me!” Father Bartholomew waved his arms over his head. “Gentlemen!”

  “Here it comes,” Brago groaned.

  Everyone turned to face the senior cleric.

  With a grimace of pain, Artis tried to pry Natalie fingers from his arm. “Are you okay?”

  She twitched a nod and clung to him even tighter.

  “Gentlemen,” Father Bartholomew called above the dying din. “Let us pray.”

  Everybody but Natalie bowed his head. Fighting to inhale, she considered running, screaming, from the cathedral. Glancing at the now-closed doors in a near panic, she saw a small figure moving behind some of the newer adventurers, hand sliding into each pocket. It was the lad from the tavern—Nathaniel.

  “Gods,” Father Bartholomew went on, heedless of the pickpocket slipping from adventurer to adventurer, “protect and guide these men, for in virtue and honor, they do your work.”

  En masse, the crowd lifted their eyes to the glittering dome and covered their hearts with their hands.

  “Now,” said Father Bartholomew, getting down to business, “you all know why everyone’s here. You’re all seeking Balen’s legendary golden harp.”

  A murmur rustled through the nave.

  “And I can tell all of you—indeed, I have already told most of you—I know nothing of its whereabouts. If I did, the Church would be a great deal richer!”

  Several of the adventurers laughed.

  Natalie nervously eyed Brago’s back. Sliding a trembling hand to her hip, she found she’d left her knife back at the Yellow Rose.

  “For whatever reason, many of you believe that the secret whereabouts of the minstrel’s harp is somewhere within these hollowed walls. If it is”—the Father narrowed his eyes at them as though they were all drunks ready to take a drink—“I trust you will uphold our agreements.”

  “Told you,” Sir Edris whispered to Reg. “He has more fingers in people’s pockets than a thief.”

  Brago leaned closer. “More than the nobility, you mean.”

  “Ah, yes.” Sir Edris stifled a chuckle. “Exactly. Very good!”

  Natalie shot another glance back at the doors, panting like a cornered animal. As she did, Nathaniel slipped out into the evening, several bulging pouches in his arms.

  “So, these are the rules.” Father Bartholomew’s voice grew louder. “You may go about the cathedral at your leisure; however, you must be guided by one of our novices.” He indicated the boys lining the far wall. “If anything needs to be moved
, touched, or altered in any way, you will speak to me first.” This last part he said very sternly. “Otherwise,” he added, “you will forfeit anything you might find. Do we all understand this?”

  A rumble of yeses followed.

  “Very well. I will be here if you require assistance. Please feel free to select your guides, and above all: may the gods go with you and guide your soul.”

  The young adventurers scrambled to the line of novices, who shrunk back from the coming onslaught.

  “Well,” said Reg to Sir Edris, “what would you like to do now?”

  Sir Edris sighed. “We’ve done what we’d come to do. Most of these idiots have seen me and believe that I think the harp is here. Let’s go have a drink to the memory of our fallen friends. We’ll set off in the morning. Best of luck to you, my good Brago.” He shook Brago’s hand.

  Brago watched with interest as the adventurers went here and there through the cathedral with their guides. “Yes, indeed. Until we meet again, my dear Edris.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sir Edris trotted down the cathedral’s broad marble steps, whistling into the waning hours of the evening while merchants packed up their carts. Bells jingled in the unseasonably warm breeze.

  “Sir Edris!” Natalie rushed after him, skirt hiked to her knees.

  “Shhh!” He covered his mouth, pretending to stroke his mustache. “Not now. Just come with us.”

  They rounded a corner and strode up a major thoroughfare as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Still being followed,” Reg muttered. “One of Randell’s men.”

  Sir Edris paused in his whistling. “Maintain the charade.”

  Natalie made to turn around, but Artis quickly wrapped his arm around her. “Don’t look.”

  “Brago was there!” said Natalie, unable to control herself. “He saw me!”

  Sir Edris shushed her again, then said in delight, “Ah, here we are!”

  A shabby sign with faded grey lettering proclaimed the building to be The Drunken Boar. Shouts from inebriated men streamed out from of the open front door.

  “We’re drinking here?” Artis crinkled his nose. “It smells like urine!”