by Robert Evert
“Started, sir?”
“Yes, boy. If you don’t know anything about adventuring, how are you going to stop Markus from winning? You’ll need to be able to anticipate his moves before he makes them. And you can’t do that if you don’t have a clue what’s transpiring.”
“Thank you, sir.” Edris opened the office door, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.
“Edris.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I know nothing about this. I have given you permission to spend the rest of your time before you enlist traveling and training. Nothing more. Do you understand?”
Edris bowed. “Yes, sir. I’m on my own.”
“Exactly so.”
Four
“Father agreed to this?” asked Edros.
He and Edris sat in Edros’s musty study in their mansion at Bend, a town a few hours’ ride from Lord Elros’s preferred country estate. Edros was Edris’s second brother. Edran, the oldest, was the lord-in-waiting and undisputedly Lord Elros’s favorite. But Edros also commanded some of the lord’s respect due to his ability to master various languages and memorize nearly everything he read. At twenty-two, he was a cleric and was rising quickly up his order’s ranks—though this might have been assisted by his father’s many gifts and donations.
“He’s agreed in his fashion.” Seeing his brother’s confusion, Edris added grudgingly, “Initially, I had proposed to undertake the quest as a means of getting in better shape.”
“And getting away from Father.”
“Precisely.”
“Then he twisted it into something he wanted?”
“More or less.”
Edros stroked his beard. “I don’t understand. You have no chance of winning. Maybe after you get some experience. But a boy your age—” Edris bristled. “Forgive me. I mean, young man . What I’m attempting to say is, allowing one of his sons to fail isn’t within our father’s nature. What does he really want you to do?”
“He wants me to make sure Markus doesn’t win.”
Edros’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Yes, I see. That would be more consistent with our dear father’s magnanimous character.” He studied Edris sitting across from him, wringing his calloused hands. “What are you going to do?”
Edris shrugged.
“Look,” Edros said, “if you want my advice, you should forget about Markus and go off and enjoy yourself. Serving the king isn’t going to be particularly pleasant.”
“Wonderful. Five years of hell.”
“I don’t know about hell, but you might as well have fun while you can.”
Edris clenched and then unclenched his fists. “What about Father? He seemed keen on the idea of Markus losing.”
“He’s always like that. He’ll get excited about something until something else comes along. Trust me, meddling with a king’s son never ends well.” He gestured to the packed shelves around them. “Read any history book or faerie tale.”
“That’s my life,” Edris muttered sarcastically, “a faerie tale.”
“It isn’t that bad, is it? Other people have it a lot worse.”
“I suppose.”
“Just stay clear of Markus. Being around him will only lead to trouble.”
“You know how Markus and I get along. He’ll pat my head like a damned dog and call me Fatty Eddie. Believe me, I’d rather stay clear of him.”
“Fatty Eddie!” Edros laughed. “I’d forgotten about that.”
Edris grumbled.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Edros said. “You’re far from fat nowadays. And besides, he’d need a ladder to reach your head!”
“Speaking of ladders, I should’ve left him stuck in that tree when we were kids. It would’ve served him right to be trapped up there all night.”
“Yes, well, who knows how things would’ve turned out for either of you had you acted differently. Every action has a corresponding consequence.” He watched his younger brother absentmindedly massage his palms. “What’s wrong, Ed? This can’t be about Markus or running all over the countryside until you enlist.”
Again, Edris shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I…”
“You what?”
“I don’t know what I want.” He gave his brother a meaningful look. “But I know what I don’t want.”
“Ed, we’ve been through this before. You have no choice. You’re going to be a kingsman. It’s your lot in life.”
Edris cursed under his breath.
“What exactly are you worried about?” Edros asked. “I would’ve thought you’d love to serve in the military. You’ve talked about nothing else since you were four.”
“I talked about being a knight.”
“And serving as a kingsman for a few years will get you one step closer to earning a knighthood. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t deal particularly well with being pushed around.”
“True. Oh, don’t take it that way. You know what I mean. You manage father’s invectives well enough.”
“I can escape from him. His belittling and snide comments only last a few moments of the day. Then he sends me off running or sparring or what have you. But when I go into the service, I belong to the king. I’m his to do what he will with.” He glared at Edros. “I won’t be owned.”
“Everybody is owned in one way or another.”
“Not me.”
“His Majesty isn’t all that bad. You’ve met him. He’s always treated you civilly. So out with it. What’s really going on?”
“I’m not exactly the type who takes orders well.”
“You’ll learn.”
“I don’t want to learn!” Edris cried. “I don’t want to be trapped for five fucking years doing somebody else’s bidding.”
“Which returns us to what you really want to do.”
“I want to…I don’t know. I want to ride and explore and fight and wench and…mostly wench.” They laughed, despite Edris’s growing anxiety. “I want to be my own man.”
“Then you’re going into the wrong profession.”
“I know!” Edris got up and strode about the tiny room. The smell of dusty books and aged parchment gave him a headache. “But other than farming, I’m not sure what else I could do.”
“Farming?”
“You know, physical labor. I’m good at that kind of thing.”
“I’m sorry, Ed. There are only three occupations suitable for a lord’s son—lord-in-waiting, cleric, and the military. Nobility don’t do physical labor. That’s how it is.”
“I know.”
“And besides, you’re built for fighting. If you were a cleric, you’d scare all the sinners away!”
Edris raked his fingers nervously through his brown hair.
“You’re going to be a terrific knight someday,” his brother said. “But first, you have to show the king your worth. That’s how things work. Five years of toil and labor for a lifetime of being a drunken, womanizing knight. It’s a pretty good deal, if you think about it.”
“Perhaps.”
“It’ll go by fast. Trust me. In the meanwhile, enjoy your freedom while you can.”
Five
Edris buried the ax head eight inches into the tree trunk, chunks of wood flying. He jerked it free and swung again. The pine tree quivered. Another blow and it’d bow before him like a defeated foe.
He swung again and, as he predicted, the tree listed to one side. Then, with the cracking of splintering wood, it crashed to the ground. It was the third tree he’d felled since returning from Bend. Not that speaking with Edros had helped. He was more confused and conflicted than ever.
Edris wiped the sweat from his brow and inhaled deeply.
He loved this kind of thing. Chopping down trees always relaxed him. There was something about being outside in the sun, stripped to the waist, and swinging a weapon until life’s aggravations left him. There was also something calming about the smell of freshly cut wood. Why couldn’t a lord’s son get a job in a lumber camp? That
he could do without complaint.
Edris hefted his ax, preparing to chop the toppled tree into more manageable sections.
A dark dot rode toward him, cutting across the rolling green fields.
Planting his ax in the dirt, Edris grabbed his shirt and toweled away the rivers of sweat cascading down his chest. He strode to meet the rider halfway.
“Father,” he called when Lord Elros got within earshot. “Is everything all right?”
The Lord of Bend reined his black stallion to a halt in front of Edris. “What are you doing here? You were told to go meet with Edros and discuss your next steps.”
“I met with him earlier this morning.”
“And?”
Edris prepared himself for the lord’s fury. “Edros didn’t believe I should undertake the mission.”
“Oh, didn’t he, now? What did the learned scholar have to say?”
“He seemed to believe that I should find a better way of spending my last year before serving the king.”
The lord’s lips tightened, then twitched. “Better way?”
“Yes, sir. He suggested I stay clear of Markus and travel instead.”
“And did you tell him my thoughts on the matter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bollocks!” Cracking his reins, the Lord of Bend kicked his horse into a gallop—not toward the manor house, but toward town.
When Edris entered his quarters later that evening, he found his brother sitting patiently by the fireplace.
“It seems,” Edros said evenly, “our father wants you to learn about the Kings’ Quests.”
Six
“So, what do you know about adventuring?” Edros asked as Edris entered the parlor.
Still stripped to the waist, and covered in dirt and wood chips, Edris collapsed into a chair across from his brother.
“The one who finds the quest item wins,” he said with the weariness of a lumberjack who’d felled half a forest.
Edros shook his head. “No. The one who gives the quest item to their king wins. The person who finds it rarely keeps it.”
“The other adventurers can steal it?” Edris wiped his shirt across his red face, then threw it into the corner. “I thought that was against the rules.”
“There are no rules.” Edros’s smile turned grim. “Beginning to see what you’ve stumbled into? Adventurers often die under unusual circumstances. If you’re going to do this, you need to watch yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I will.” Edris pulled off a muddy boot and tossed it next to the shirt. He leaned forward, interested. “Maybe we should start from the beginning.”
“Fine.” Edros crinkled his nose. “But don’t get too close. You stink.”
Lifting an arm, Edris sniffed. “What? This is what adventurers are supposed to smell like!”
“Maybe one who’s been dead a week. Next time visit the bathhouse before coming home.”
Edris pulled off his other boot and let his tired feet breathe. “In your line of work, the only ones who sweat are the poor souls begging for forgiveness. But go on. And try not to inhale.”
“As I was saying, the kings take turns selecting relics that have been lost throughout the ages or have been alluded to in tales. These can be anything from worthless trinkets to golden statues to ancient artifacts.”
“Why would the kings want worthless trinkets?”
“To prevent other kings from getting their covetous little hands on them.” Edros took a sip of wine and returned the goblet to the end table next to him. “Ed, kings don’t need rusty armor or ruby rings. These quests have nothing to do with the items themselves. The kings are playing a game against each other. They’re sending their adventurers out to compete. It’s all about honor. And to kings—”
“Honor is everything.”
“Precisely. There’s nothing more important to kings than their honor. And when you win, you win more than gold. You win favor…and power.”
Reclining in his chair, Edris considered this. He was seeing the allure of questing.
“Tell me about the Sword of Betrayal,” he said. “If I’m going to interfere with Markus, I’ll need to know where he might think it is.”
“Ah! Now comes the fun part. Before you can find a long-lost object, you need to understand its history. What do you know about Raaf?”
“He was the eldest child of King Rolf of Hillshire. He was supposed to become king but was killed.” Edris lifted a helpless hand. “That’s it, I suppose.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Legend had it that it was his younger brother, Renier. But—” Edris shot Edros a wicked grin, “who would kill their own flesh and blood?”
Edros laughed. “Ever wonder why Edran and I don’t get along? If he dies, I’m lord-in-waiting.”
“Oh, he knows you’d never—”
“Of course, I wouldn’t. But to become king? Let me put it to you this way. How many sons of kings have died mysteriously? Think about that. They have a remarkably high mortality rate. That’s why royal families always have a spare to the heir.”
Edris chuckled. That’s what they used to call Edros when he was a child—Spare .
“All right,” Edros said, trying to refocus the conversation, “so let’s assume for the moment the legends are true. Renier killed his older brother in order to become king. Do you know the circumstances of Raaf’s death?”
“Not really.”
“This is the crucial part, so pay attention." Edros leaned forward, took a sniff, and then—irritated—pushed his chair further away from his filthy brother. “In a nutshell, Raaf went riding and never returned. When the royal guards looked for him, they found the trail they believed he’d taken drenched in blood.”
“They assumed it was his blood.”
“Correct.”
“But they didn’t know, right? I mean, he could’ve still been alive.”
“Maybe. They never found his body. After a couple weeks searching, they declared him dead.”
“Weeks? Seems like a rush to judgment, if you ask me. I hope you’d wait longer than that to seize the lordship from Edran.”
“I’d wait a full month.”
“That’s big of you.”
“I prefer the life of a cleric to that of a lord.”
“Sure you do,” Edris said. “What about Raaf’s guards? Did the idiot ride off on his own?”
“He had two bodyguards with him. Both dear and close friends, it is said. They were never found either.”
“Dear and close friends, my ass. I bet you anything they were in on the murder.”
“Possibly.”
“So, what happened to his sword?”
Edros took another sip of wine. “Nobody knows.”
“Obviously Renier wouldn’t keep the sword,” Edris said. “It would be a clear indication he killed his brother.”
“Right. Hence the name—Sword of Betrayal. That, and the fact people who wielded it in battle rarely won, though that was most likely because Raaf’s ancestors weren’t particularly skilled at fighting.”
Edris thought for a moment, trying to make sense of everything he’d been told.
“So, what do you think happened to it?” he asked. “Take a guess.”
“I have no idea. But you can eliminate several possibilities.”
“Like what?”
“Well, as you deduced, Renier couldn’t keep the sword. And he wouldn’t throw it away. It was an heirloom and a symbol of their house. It was close to six centuries old. He wouldn’t let anybody else have it.”
“I bet he’d bury it with the body.”
“So, the rumor goes.”
An excitement crept into the pit of Edris’s stomach. This was a riddle. And he liked unraveling riddles.
“Where was the blood found?” he asked.
“Nobody knows anymore. Remember, this was over two hundred years ago.”
“What path was Raaf riding when he was attacked?”
; “Again, nobody knows.”
“But he was out for a day ride?”
“Correct.”
“That means he had to be relatively close to the castle. How hard would it be to find a grave within a few hours’ ride of a given starting point?”
“Keep in mind, dear brother, people have been attempting to solve this mystery for a long time. Everything you’ve said here has been considered by scores of other adventurers. What you need is a piece of information nobody else has.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But adventurers have an expression: All quests begin in the library .”
“Library, eh?” Edris put his hands behind his head and leaned back. He immediately regretted it. He really did stink. “Tomorrow, I’ll ask Father if I can look through his books.”
“No. As extensive as our library is, it is mainly filled with copies. You need to go to original sources, diaries and letters, things that were written when Raaf disappeared. You need to find something nobody else has read. Some missing piece of the puzzle.”
“Missing piece of the puzzle…”
“There’s another axiom adventurers have: never trust what one source tells you . If you have something pointing you in a direction that is contrary to everything else, it’s probably wrong. Too many adventurers fall for red herrings.”
Edris pondered all of this, ideas pummeling his brain. For the first time in a long while, he felt motivated to do something.
“If I were you,” Edros said, “I’d go to Upper Angle and visit the king’s personal library.”
“The king?”
“Absolutely. Kings collect many kinds of historical documents. And King Michael is said to have an exceptional library. Who knows what answers are hidden in those tomes of his?”
“How the hell am I going to get in there?”
“That, you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”
Seven
Edris approached his father’s receiving hall with trepidation. From a hundred strides away, he could hear the Lord of Bend berating somebody for failing to pay their taxes. The stained-glass windows shook with his wrath. As he reached for the doors, they swung open. An elderly farmer emerged, sobbing.