Quests of the Kings

by Robert Evert

  Could she ever stab somebody? The question lingered.

  She pictured Brago’s crazed face as he kept kicking her over and over again. Damned right she could. In fact, if she ever saw him again, she’d—

  Natalie chuckled inwardly. She didn’t know what she’d do if she ever saw him again, but she was pretty sure running would be involved. Brago was practically a trained killer. The thought of him being scared of a short, squat girl wielding a little knife was absurd. Still…oh, how she’d love to stab him in the gut and twist that blade! She’d make him suffer, the prick. But that wasn’t going to happen. The sooner she realized that, the better. She had to move on.

  In the corner of the crowded room, Robbie stirred on his straw mat, grumbling in his sleep. Natalie watched the shell of a young man as he lay there, drool connecting his cheek to his canvas sack pillow. What would she do with him? If only he could work, or do something productive; if only he wouldn’t hurt people whenever he got scared or upset; if only, if only…No use thinking about the “ifs.” People could grow old very quickly dwelling on such things, and she had a family to take care of.

  Quietly, Natalie pulled on the rest of her clothes and snuck out into the damp, pre-dawn darkness. She could barely see three feet in front of her, but she knew the way blindfolded. As she started to walk, she listened to the forest, alive with the chirping of crickets and the rustling of unseen animals darting across the fallen autumn leaves.

  All the way to Upper Angle, she imagined a hundred different scenarios of killing Brago—all of them ending with Brago screaming in pain and pleading for mercy. Each time, she’d envisioned herself laughing and saying something clever. Maybe she’d ask him, “Who do you work for?” right before plunging her knife into his chest. Yes, it was childish to think about, but it was chilly, and her hatred kept her warm.

  Natalie trudged across the stone bridge spanning the Lesser Green River and up to the great iron gates. Overhead, the stars were still shivering blue and green in the blackness, yet a line of traveling merchants was already entering the city. To Natalie’s relief, the guards let her in without so much as a second glance. The fewer people looking at her, the better.

  Hood covering most of her face, Natalie walked through the Lower Quarter where the city’s peasants lived. Rat catchers ran about with clubs, their small dogs growling as they chased hordes of rodents scampering from piles of filth heaped in the streets. In the cleaner Merchant’s Quarter, traders set up their carts and booths. Most knew not to try to sell her anything. She was just as poor as they were—poorer even. Those who attempted to haggle with her over the price of various trinkets stopped after a few unenthusiastic strides. In the Artisan’s Quarter, hammers ringing on steel and a rhythmic sawing of wood had begun to break the dark calm.

  As Natalie approached Henry’s livery, the sun peeked over the eastern hills, painting the rim of the indigo sky and the bellies of the clouds in mystic shades of amber. Natalie had stopped to admire it when she noticed two men in front of the stables. One was certainly Henry, stroking his bearded chin as if deeply interested in what was being discussed. The other person, the one doing the talking…was Brago.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Eight

  Natalie watched from around the corner of the glassmaker’s shop, petrified, as Henry and Brago chatted in the middle of the otherwise deserted street. Then Brago hefted a saddle into Henry’s arms and retreated into the early-morning dimness to the Black Horse Inn two doors down. Henry disappeared into the stables. Natalie raced after him.

  “Was that”—she panted—“was that Brago? That was Brago, the adventurer, wasn’t it?”

  Henry heaved the saddle onto the back of a large copper bay horse waiting patiently in its stall. “Oh, hey, Nat! How are you feeling? You’re looking better.”

  Natalie pointed to the inn, heart pounding. “Was that…was that Brago?”

  “Sure was. Ever since a horse was stolen from Hilferd’s stables down in the Lower Quarter, he and some of the other adventurers board theirs here.” He laughed. “Best thing that could’ve happened for my business.” He winked at Natalie. “Not that I had anything to with the stolen horse, mind.”

  Natalie forced herself to take a deep breath and act normal.

  “Here”—she reached for the saddle—“why don’t you let me do that? You—you should probably go check on Brago, see if he needs anything. You don’t want to lose a famous customer like him. Think of all the business he could bring in if he told his friends about how attentive you were.”

  “All righty!” Henry patted the horse’s twitching shoulder. “Get her ready and bring her outside. Mr. Brago needs to leave as soon as may be, on some sort of adventure or another. After a golden harp, or a lute, or some such thing. It’s all foolishness to me, but I wouldn’t dare tell him that, of course.”

  Natalie gave a light chuckle that sounded more like a cackle. “Yeah, I…I won’t, either! I’ll bring her out as soon as she’s ready.”

  “Good!” Henry started to leave, then paused and turned. He nodded toward the knife hanging from Natalie’s rope belt. “You okay? About everything that happened, an’ all? Scared?”

  Natalie fumbled with the saddle straps. “No, just determined not to let it happen again.”

  “Good!” Henry paused again. “You know, maybe I should teach you a few things. About defending yourself, I mean. I was never much of a fighter—not by desire, you understand—but I held my own in the few scrapes I’ve been in.”

  Fearing a lengthy story was brewing, Natalie ushered Henry toward the open door. “You’re in my way. Go attend to business.”

  Henry smiled fondly at her. “I really appreciate everything you do for me, Nat. You’re a gem.”

  “Business?”

  “Right you are! Have ol’ Red here out in front of the inn as soon as you can.”

  “I will.”

  As soon as Henry stepped out of view, Natalie rifled through Brago’s bulging saddlebags.

  “Son of a bitch! You’d better have something in here worth—”

  She found a stack of papers and three heavy, leather-bound books that were worn with age. Each of them could easily bring ten silver pieces at any of the oddity shops in the Lower Quarter. More, if she sold them to the library or to a reputable dealer.

  Thirty silver! She’d never seen so much money at one time. It’d be enough to buy new winter clothes for all of the children, and perhaps even help pay the taxes on the land. They could even have a decent meal for Yületide—and maybe presents!

  Natalie grabbed what she could from the saddlebags and thrust it under a pile of straw. With trembling hands, she bridled the horse and hurried her to the inn’s hitching post. Then, half-walking, half-jogging, she scurried back to the stables, trying desperately not to appear suspicious. She slid the door closed behind her with a rattling crash that seemed to shake the city.

  In one of the darkened stalls, a horse snorted and pawed at the ground, eager to get watered and fed, but Natalie ignored him. Instead, she was pressed to a gap in the door’s timbers, swollen eyes straining to see the inn.

  She knew she should run. Or hide. Or scream. Or do something—anything. But she couldn’t. She merely clutched the stable door, every muscle quivering with fear and anticipation.

  This was stupid! She could get her hands cut off for stealing. And it was stealing! No two ways about it. She should put the books back before he—

  A slender figure emerged from the inn with an overflowing pack under one arm and a bedroll under the other. Henry chattered away next to him.

  “Come on, Henry!” Natalie whispered to herself, on the verge of tears. “Just let him go already!”

  Brago laughed at something Henry said, while coins and handshakes were exchanged. Then Brago approached his waiting horse.

  Oh, gods! Natalie prayed, cold sweat prickling her skin. She trembled even more, fingernails practically digging into the stable door. Please don’t look in the bags.
Please!

  Brago attached his bedroll across the back of his saddle, then checked the billet straps and adjusted the stirrups.

  Natalie held her breath.

  Brago tugged the straps a couple more times, double-checked his bedroll, then reached for the saddle bags—

  Oh, gods!

  —and tugged at the buckles to secure them. He pulled himself into the saddle, nodded again to Henry, and kicked his horse into a quick trot, disappearing out of Natalie’s view.

  Falling to her knees, she sobbed with relief.

  • • •

  Throughout that day, Natalie worked as fast as her battered body would allow—mucking the stalls, feeding and watering the horses, exercising them in the stable yard—however, all she could think about was grabbing Brago’s belongings and racing home. She considered selling them right away. Heaven knew she could use the money. Sooner or later, though, Brago would realize his things were missing, and he’d probably check with all of the merchants who bought old books to see if anybody had sold them. Unfortunately, it’d be easy to remember a stocky, boyish-looking girl with a busted-up face. No, it was smarter to hide them somewhere and find a buyer in a few months. They’d sell just as well then as now.

  Thirty silver! Not exactly fair compensation for what he’d done to her, but Natalie felt some degree of satisfaction knowing she’d gotten back at him. The bastard thought he could just beat the shit out of a woman without the fear of being punished? Well, she had punished him. Hopefully he’d return soon, so she could steal something else. The prick.

  When the evening shadows covered the valley, and Henry had recounted seemingly endless stories about his fights growing up in Lower Angle, Natalie retrieved her newly acquired possessions and rushed home. There, Artis, Hadley, and Ida sat alongside the dirt track leading to her front door.

  “Anything happen today?” Ida asked, hurrying up to her.

  Hadley was close behind. “Did you see the son of a bitch who beat you?”

  Startled by the question, Natalie stride wavered.

  “By the gods!” Ida exclaimed. “You did see him, didn’t you?”

  “Did you kill the prick?” Hadley regarded Natalie’s knife as if expecting to find it dripping with blood.

  Natalie hurried to regain her composure. “What? Of course I didn’t see him. I don’t even know who he was.”

  “Liar!” Hadley shoved her hands onto her hips. “Tell us everything right now, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll…I’ll…”

  “We’ll never speak to you again!” Ida chimed in. “You have to tell us what really happened. We’re friends!”

  “Come on, Ida”—Artis stepped forward—“leave Nat alone. She’s been through enough over the past couple of days. She doesn’t need you two interrogating her.”

  “Oh, what do you care? You’re leaving,” Hadley snapped back, adding under her breath, “Stupid men, always thinking someplace else is better.”

  “What are you all doing here?” Natalie asked. In her house, one of the younger children was crying—Josh, by the sound of it. Then an older child joined in, probably Mary. Natalie suddenly felt very grateful she had an excuse not to go inside. “It’s getting late.”

  “Don’t change the subject!” Hadley demanded. “Now, out with it. What happened? Did you see him today or not? And who attacked you? Don’t pretend you don’t know. I can tell when you’re lying.”

  Natalie looked to Artis for help, but he only shrugged.

  “Oh, for the love of the gods!” she cried. “You don’t need to know everything that happens to me. It’s none of your damned business, anyway. So go home and leave me be!”

  “Where’d you get these?” Hadley attempted to take the books Natalie held.

  Instinctively, Natalie pulled her cloak over them. She knew immediately it was the wrong move. All three friends gaped at her.

  “You stole those?” Ida whispered. “Nat! That’s…that’s serious! You can get in real trouble!”

  “I didn’t—” Natalie suddenly realized she was standing out in the open with Brago’s stolen books and papers. She signaled for them to follow her into a dense cluster of elms that had invaded one of the gardens. “Come over here.”

  “Something did happen, didn’t it?” Hadley said. “I knew it!”

  They fought through the tangled clump of saplings into a small clearing.

  “What happened, Nat?” Artis pushed away several spindly branches. “Did you really see the guy who attacked you?”

  Natalie gritted her teeth. “Look, if I tell you all something, something really important, will you keep it quiet?”

  “Of course!” they all said together.

  Natalie glared at Hadley. “I mean it. This isn’t something you can tell people, especially your stupid brother.”

  “He isn’t stupid!”

  “Hadley.” Natalie folded her arms.

  “Okay! Okay! I won’t tell a soul, I swear. Why are you all looking at me like that? When have I ever betrayed a trust?”

  Artis and Ida chortled.

  Hadley huffed indignantly. “What? I can keep a secret as well as anyone…I can!”

  Natalie inched closer to Hadley, who retreated a half-step. “Had, I need you to understand how important this is. When I say ‘nobody,’ I mean nobody. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not a month from now. You can’t tell anybody—ever.”

  For a moment, Hadley contemplated this, as if trying to determine whether or not she was up for the challenge. She exhaled resolutely. “Okay, I promise.”

  Natalie glowered at Artis and Ida.

  “We promise!” they said, nodding quickly.

  “Oh, very blasted well.” Natalie glanced around the woods, then at her dilapidated house. At least one of the children had stopped crying. The other was still going strong. “I know who attacked me.”

  “I knew it!” Hadley shouted. Artis nudged her to be quiet. “What? I’m just saying—”

  “Who was it, Nat?” Anger simmered in Artis’s eyes. Natalie considered whether telling him might be a bad idea. Would he go after Brago in some sort of jealous rage? No. Artis was a lovesick boy, sure, but he didn’t have a death wish.

  “Go on,” Ida said. “Nobody will hear anything from us.”

  Natalie sighed. Might as well tell them.

  “I was in the library after they’d closed for the night—”

  “Is that where you got those books?” Hadley asked.

  “No, I got these—” Natalie waved her hands. “Just let me tell the story, okay?”

  “Okay, okay, sorry. Go on!”

  “The night the Kings’ Quest was announced, I wanted to get something to read, so I, you know, went into the library to borrow something. I was going to return it, so I wasn’t stealing, not really. I usually return everything within a few days. Anyway, while I was looking around the upper floors, I came across two other people.”

  “Other people?” Hadley repeated. “Who? Scribes? Guards?”

  Ida and Artis hushed her.

  “No, nobody like that.” A feeling of foreboding crept over Natalie. Perhaps she should keep her mouth shut. The less her friends knew, the better. But then again, talking about it did feel good, like a great weight was being lifted from her dying soul. And she could trust her friends. Even Hadley, as big a gossip as she was, could be trusted, once she heard who’d attacked her.

  “I think,” Natalie said, “they were adventurers.”

  “Adventurers?” Hadley and Ida exclaimed together.

  Natalie cringed. “Keep your voices down! Do you want somebody to hear you?”

  The house was now quiet. A thin shaft of yellow light slipped between the curtains and into the growing darkness. Even the woods seemed to wait in expectant silence.

  “You really think you saw adventurers?” Ida whispered.

  “What were they doing?” Hadley asked.

  “They were both looking at books.”

/>   “Books?” Artis paused. “Like they were researching something for the quest?”

  “Yes, exactly!” said Natalie, mentally kicking herself for not coming to that conclusion first. “Anyway, when I saw these two men nosing about the library, I grabbed a book and left. I crawled out the window I always use. As I was sneaking away from the building…” Natalie hesitated, not wanting to think about what had happened, but then pushed forward. “Somebody yanked a garrote around my neck and dragged me back into the alley. He beat the hell out of me.”

  “A garrote!” they all cried.

  “Shhh!”

  Artis looked at Natalie’s neck, but Natalie drew her cloak tighter to hide the thin, white welt encircling her throat.

  “Oh, gods, Nat!” Artis paced, twigs and dried leaves crackling under each of his worried steps.

  “What?”

  “He could’ve killed you!”

  “But he didn’t, now did he?”

  Artis groaned. “Nat, I don’t think you understand. People who use garrotes don’t mean to steal things.” He stared with eyes full of much more than just concern. “They use garrotes to kill…quietly.”

  “I know what garrotes are used for. I’m not an idiot!”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Natalie cocked a fist. “If you say that again, I’ll get angry!”

  “Nat, we’re not talking about some cutpurse or an ordinary thug. We’re talking about assassins.”

  Natalie leaned closer, nose inches from his. “I’m…not…an…idiot! Believe me, I know more about this than you do.”

  Hadley pulled Artis back. “Shut up and let her go on! So”—she waved to Natalie—“what happened then? Where were the two adventurers? How did you get away?”

  But Natalie still scowled at Artis, beside herself with rage. “This isn’t my fault, you know! Just because I’m a woman—”