by Robert Evert
Hadley scoffed. “Brago’s an ass. I can’t imagine any of the nobility really like him. They simply use him and the other adventurers as sport. To them, all of these quests are just games.”
Other adventurers…
“What?” Ida asked hopefully. “Did you think of something?”
Natalie tried to sort things through before she got too excited.
“Do Brago and Sir Edris still hate each other?”
“All of the adventurers hate each other,” said Artis, “but I’d say they hate each other more than most. Why?”
Natalie felt the pressure bearing down on her lighten.
She peered out the window. “Okay! So, what if…what if I go to Sir Edris? He hates Brago, right? He’d probably do anything to tarnish Brago’s image with the king and the nobles.”
Artis joined Natalie at the window, rubbing her back, her hand mark still visible on his cheek. “Yes, Sir Edris might want to tarnish Brago’s name, but…”
Crossing her arms, Natalie glowered at him. “Oh, go ahead and say it.”
“Well…”
“Nearly killing a woman isn’t that big of a deal, right?”
“I’m not saying that! And I don’t believe that at all. But you have to understand, Brago has a reputation. He’s stolen horses, raped women, and killed people, and nothing’s ever happened to him. You’ll need more than a little mud to throw to win over Sir Edris.”
Natalie humphed. Of course, Artis was right—as always. Still, she couldn’t give up on the idea of obtaining a protector—somebody powerful enough to keep Brago from killing her.
“Men like Sir Edris would want one of four things in return for helping you.” Artis held up four fingers, tapping each in turn. “Money, fame, power, or revenge. I’m sorry, but I don’t see how you can give him any of that.”
Hadley picked up the pouch Natalie had knocked to the floor. “How much money would it take? I have some more at home.”
“I do, too!” said Ida. “I have fifty-five silver hidden away under my bed!”
Artis laughed. “Under your bed?”
“What?”
He laughed some more. “You’re right. Nobody would ever think to look there!”
The three of them began to argue, but Natalie ignored them. She leaned against the windowsill, trying to think.
“What if I gave Sir Edris or one of the other adventurers something they needed, something that’d help them find Balen’s harp?” she said. “That’d be like giving them four thousand gold, right? Plus, it would win favor with King Michael, and they could show up all of the other adventurers. What if I gave them Brago’s books and papers?”
Artis grimaced. “Nat, I think you’re throwing fuel onto the fire. I mean, if Brago’s furious now, what would he be if you gave his things to his enemies?”
“Angry’s angry,” said Hadley. “He’s already tried to kill her once. He can’t get angrier than that.”
“There are things much worse than being killed,” Artis replied grimly.
“Oh, you read too much!” Hadley turned to Natalie. “So what do we do next?”
“I have to find Sir Edris,” Natalie said.
“He could be anywhere,” Ida said. “I mean, they’re all riding around looking for that silly flute.”
“Harp,” Artis corrected her.
“Whatever.”
Natalie returned to the bed and thumbed through Brago’s loose papers. She pulled out the sketch of the Cathedral of the Stars. “Here!” She showed it the others. “I’ll start looking for him in Winros Minor.”
“Why there?” asked Hadley.
“Because Brago evidently thinks the Cathedral of the Stars has something to do with the quest. Sir Edris probably has the same idea.”
“I don’t know, Nat.” Artis shuffled through the other papers. “What about all of this other stuff?”
“They’re just cryptic notes and crude maps.” She grabbed the one featuring the winding street with scores of dead ends branching off of it. “This could be anywhere!” She exhaled resolutely. “No. The Cathedral of the Stars is my best bet. I’m going to Winros Minor and see if I can find Sir Edris. I’ll offer him what I have if he deals with Brago for me.”
Her friends didn’t reply.
“What?” she asked.
“Nat,” Artis said gently, “the chances of finding Sir Edris, or any of the other adventurers in Winros Minor, is pretty slim to begin with. Getting them to agree to ‘deal with’ Brago is going to be next to impossible. They already hate him. If they could deal with him, they would’ve done so already. One less competitor.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Artis sighed. “No.”
“Then I’m going to Winros Minor! Oh, don’t frown at me like that. Like I have a choice. I have to do something; I can’t hide here forever!”
“Fine, but I’m going with you, and”—Artis raised his hands—“it isn’t why you think! Look, wouldn’t you go with me if the situations were reversed? It’s at least a five- or six-day ride south to Winros Minor, and that’s with a horse, which I’m guessing you don’t have.”
“You can rent one!” Hadley lifted her pouch. “How much would it be?”
Natalie shook her head. “Had, you’re wonderfully sweet, and I love you. But I’m not going to have you pay for a horse. I’ll take a barge and walk.”
“Even if you took a barge to Lower Angle,” Artis went on, “that would still leave you four to five days of walking just to get to the cathedral. Think about that, Nat. Nearly a week of sleeping by yourself next to some deserted road while a maniac’s hunting for you. You’ll need somebody to keep watch, otherwise you’ll wake up with a knife at your throat.”
“Don’t scare her!” Ida slapped Artis’s arm. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m telling her how things are. Nat, I’ve been to Winros Minor before. I can show you around. And besides”—his expression turned pained—“harvesting season is over, remember? I need to start looking for another job. Who knows?” He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll become an adventurer!”
He struck an absurdly noble pose. Nobody laughed.
Then he said more sincerely, “We’re simply friends going the same way—you, to find your knight in shining armor; me, to find a future. Nothing more. Deal?”
He held out his hand, but Natalie didn’t shake it.
“Are you going to do everything I say?” she asked.
“When haven’t I?”
“We’re going, too!” chimed in Hadley and Ida.
“Again, you two are wonderful,” Natalie told them, “but I can’t have you do that. You’d be in even more danger than you are now. Besides, I have a big favor to ask of you guys. A big favor.”
“Name it!” Ida said, sitting back down on the bed. Its springs squeaked.
“I need you to keep an eye on my family—a close eye, okay? I need you to stop by a couple of times a day and make sure everything’s all right.”
“That’s not a big favor.” Hadley joined Ida on the bed. “We both can check on them. I’ll stop by in the mornings, Ida can take the evenings.”
“They’re going to need food and…and money.” Natalie winced. “Not much, only—”
“Done.” Hadley waved her hand. “We’ll take care of everything. You don’t even need to ask.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course! We’ve been trying to help you out since your father died. I’m just glad you’re finally letting us do something for you.”
“Gods, I love you two. Thank you so much!” Natalie hugged them tight.
“What are friends for?”
“What should we tell her?” asked Ida. “Your mother, I mean. You’re going to be gone for a bit, I should think.”
“We’ll tell her she and Artis have run off to get married.” Hadley laughed. “She’d believe that!”
Natalie turned to Artis.
“Hey”—he inched away—“I d
idn’t say a word!”
“Seriously, though,” Ida persisted, “we can’t keep telling her you’re working all day and night. She’d know better.”
Natalie considered this. “Tell her I had to go to Winros Minor to get some horses for Henry. Tell her that some of his stock died in the fire and he needs help riding the new ones back here. That makes sense.”
“But why wouldn’t you go home and tell her that yourself?” Ida asked.
“Because Henry wanted to leave right away. He needs the horses as soon as possible in order to stay in business. Tell her he paid me extra to leave right from the city, and once I get home, we’ll have enough money to get us through the winter. I’ll deal with that lie once everything settles down.”
Natalie thought through her plan, examining it from different angles. Artis was right; she’d need somebody to go with her. And it was indeed a long shot finding Sir Edris, let alone convincing him to help her with Brago. What could Sir Edris possibly do anyway? Kill Brago? And if he could, why wouldn’t he have done so before? They’d hated each other for years. Still, what other choice did she have? She couldn’t stay at the Hilltop Inn for the rest of her life. Sooner or later, Brago would find out she had his books and papers. Then she’d be dead.
Chapter Twelve
It took four days of floating south on a barge down the Greater Green River to Lower Angle, and three days of walking westward along poorly marked roads surrounded by seemingly endless expanses of waist-high grass, for Natalie and Artis to reach Winros Minor. For the most part, it had been a pleasant journey. To his credit, Artis didn’t broach the subject of what had happened outside the library, and he didn’t once suggest Natalie should marry him. He mainly prattled on about establishing some sort of lucrative career and beginning a life for himself far from his father’s orchards. Natalie half-listened, uninterested, as she worried about Brago.
Compared to Upper Angle, Winros Minor was a small city. Located in King Richard’s fertile plains of Anora, between the Lesser Green River to the west and the snowcapped Haegthorn Mountains to the east, it contained barely ten thousand people—including the many sizable farming and ranching communities scattered throughout the surrounding region. However, Winros Minor’s population more than doubled as pilgrims trekked hundreds of miles to worship at its assorted temples and holy sites. The city also contained a large garrison of soldiers, ever watchful for signs of invasion from King Michael’s realm to the north, should war replace quests as the kings’ chief source of entertainment.
Artis stood inside Winros Minor’s massive wooden gates, surveying the town. “Well,” he said, “what now?”
Natalie gazed about. “I’ve never seen a place so flat!” She’d been saying variations of that same sentiment ever since leaving the hilly country around Upper Angle. “And the wind!” she added. “Does it ever stop?”
Artis laughed. “If it does, the Anorians’ll think the end of the world is coming.”
“Why?”
“You have to remember, we have the hills and the forests to block the wind. Here, on the plains, the breeze is always blowing. It’s really important to their culture.”
Natalie watched the pilgrims, weary from the long journeys from their distant homelands, as they lined the dirt streets to enter various shrines and churches. Wagons rumbled past with bushels of corn and wheat; headed to the market square.
“People here associate the wind with Hirist, the god of good news and change,” Artis went on. “They have an expression: ‘When the wind stops, death will surely come.’ In fact, did you know that during the Battle of Long Stems, the wind saved the Anorians by blowing the arrows of the Havenorian archers off their mark?”
“So the wind is good. Got it.” Natalie listened. “What’s that noise? Not the street merchants shouting, but that music. It sounds like rain hitting tin, or the falls back home. I can’t imagine any of the rivers here have that far to fall.”
Artis cocked his head, then brightened. “They’re chimes. It’s custom here to have little bells hanging from strings in front of the houses. Their jingling is said to scare away evil. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“They’d drive me crazy,” Natalie said, fighting to pull her flapping hair into a ponytail. “That, and the blasted wind. I don’t know how anybody can stand it here. And the openness! I can’t explain it—it’s like the opposite of being smothered, but just as bad. Like the sky’s pushing down on you.”
Artis surveyed the bright blue sky with satisfaction. He gestured to the red-winged blackbirds flying, warbling, overhead. “I wonder where they live. There’re barely any bushes on the plains, let alone trees. In fact, wood has to be imported from upriver. That’s how most of the villagers south of Upper Angle make their living. From wood and iron ore from the mountains.”
“Stop trying to teach me things! I don’t have time. We have to find Sir Edris.”
Cloak snapping to one side in the constant wind, Natalie walked along the main avenue that bisected the town. Merchants stood by their carts, calling to her.
“Hey, boy,” yelled one. He held up two handfuls of round green apples. “Three for a bronze. Can’t get a better deal than that!”
Artis snorted. “You call those apples? You should see the ones we grow in Upper Angle—they’re twice the size!”
The merchant made a dismissive sound. “Bigger isn’t always better. Your apples don’t have any flavor; not juicy. Our apples…” He sighed dramatically. “You can’t get no apples that taste better.”
Artis laughed.
“Too afraid to try?” asked the merchant scornfully. “Or too poor to spend a bronze?”
Artis stopped. “All right. Here.” He handed him a bronze piece. “Give me three. Let’s see how crappy your apples taste.”
“Come on!” Natalie called to him as a horde of merchants surrounded her, all talking and tugging on her sleeves. “We’re not sightseeing, remember?”
Artis trotted up to her and bit into an apple. “Damn.”
“What?”
“This is a good apple—sweet and crisp.” He took another bite. “Seriously. I should bring some home to my father. We’d triple our money if we sold something this good.” He held out the partly eaten fruit. “Want a taste?”
Natalie shook her head in disgust. “Men.”
“What?” Juice trickled down Artis’s chin. He wiped it away.
“All that merchant had to do was challenge your manhood by saying you were scared, and you bought them without haggling.” Natalie kept walking. “Pathetic.”
“Yeah? Well, they think you’re a boy!”
“I couldn’t care less.” Natalie wove through the crowd of merchants and pilgrims, keeping her pack in front of her. The last thing she needed was some pickpocket stealing what few possessions she had.
The street opened onto a town square with a circular pond adorned by swaying weeping willows. Hundreds of black ducks and enormous white geese glided, untroubled, across the windswept waters.
“Why don’t people shoot those ducks?” Natalie asked. “Geez, there’s enough there to feed the entire town!”
“It’s King Richard’s duck pond. Poachers would get flogged, or worse.”
“Lord Haakon’s duck pond,” a voice next to them corrected.
They turned to an elderly man pointing at a stately stone manor on the other side of the square. “Lord Haakon, he’d flog you. Buy a toy for your little brother?” He held out two knights, brilliantly carved from red wood.
“She isn’t my little brother.”
“My mistake.” The merchant reached into another pocket and produced a tangle of gold necklaces. “Jewelry for your ugly girlfriend?”
Artis nearly choked on the apple.
“That’s it!” Natalie said, shooing the merchants away. “Go! Get out of here! We don’t want anything. Go away, all of you. I’ll kick the next person who tries to sell us anything! I mean it! Go!”
The mob of merchants dispersed, grumbl
ing.
Natalie glared at Artis, who was trying not to laugh.
“Boys’ clothes are more functional! Can you imagine walking all the way here in a dress?”
“No, I can’t.” He scanned the surrounding mud brick buildings, trying to hide his grin. “So, where to?”
“Ugh! Men!” Natalie glanced about, searching up the side streets. “Where’s this damned cathedral, do you think?”
“In the center of town.” Artis pointed to a cluster of gold spires rising up above a building to the south, noonday sun glinting off the ornate peaks. His voice dropped as a group of pilgrims passed by. “And I suggest you not curse the cathedral. Many of these people take their religion very seriously. Say something disparaging about their place of worship, and you might have more to worry about than a crazy adventurer.”
Natalie nodded in concession. “You’re right. Thanks for reminding me. I’ll try to watch myself.”
She gave him a sidelong look.
“What?” He bit into the remains of his first apple.
“How do you know all of this stuff? About the bells, and the pilgrims, and everything?”
Artis swallowed. “We sell most of our cider to merchants in The Angle, but some of it comes here and elsewhere. When I was little, I used to go on trips with my father.” He shrugged. “You learn stuff when you travel.”
Natalie grunted. She’d always yearned to see the world outside of The Angle, learn new languages, try exotic food. But she was a peasant girl, and that wasn’t going to change. She turned her attention back to the buildings. “I’m going to go investigate the cathedral. I want you to find us a cheap place to stay.”
Artis made to bite into his second apple, but stopped. “You’re going to the cathedral alone?”
“Do you think it’s too dangerous for me here?” It was a trick question. He probably wouldn’t say “yes” for fear of scaring her, but a “no” would allow her to go where she pleased.
A broken line of geese flew low overhead, honking, then skidded to a floating stop in the duck pond, sending up sprays of water.
“I’ll be fine,” Natalie reassured him. “Once you get us rooms, see if you can find a town historian, or an old man who’s lived here his entire life.”
