by Robert Evert
“What’s this all about?” Natalie asked. “What does any of this have to do with Balen and his harp?”
Sir Edris was too busy thinking and pacing, so Reg answered for him.
“What do you know about Balen?” he asked.
Natalie lifted her shoulders helplessly. “He was a great musician. Lived about three hundred years ago or so. Died kind of mysteriously. That’s it, I suppose.”
“Balen wasn’t just a great musician. He was the musician. He created the system by which music is written.”
“So?”
“You have to understand, nobody could play like he did,” Reg said, like a schoolteacher trying to convey a lesson’s importance to his uninterested pupils. “His fingering and touch were beyond anything anybody had ever heard then, or since. It’s said he played for every king alive during his lifetime. In fact, no wars broke out between the kingdoms, because no nobility wanted to cut travel to The Angle and prevent them from hearing him play. People literally thought he was a god, or the child of a god. That’s how good he was. His music was like magic.”
Natalie grunted. “Had he been female, he would’ve been burned at the stake for being a witch.”
“Actually, there was talk about that, about him being a magic user. But no one dared to do anything about it.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to say, even now. About Balen and magic.” Sir Edris peered out the window again. “I’d advise all of you to keep that piece of gossip to yourselves.”
“He was from The Angle?” Artis asked.
“Yup,” Reg replied. “From a village called Dark Ford. The village isn’t there anymore; Lord Kettering relocated the farmers when he built his manor.”
“It was near Dark Ford,” Sir Edris corrected. “Up on the bluffs, overlooking the river. The Ketterings took over Balen’s lands after Balen’s family died out. Lord Kettering is the leading expert on Balen, though a fat lot of help he’s been to us. I wouldn’t be surprised if the miserable imp was trying to find the harp himself.”
Natalie groaned. “This is all so pointless. Grown men running here and there for trinkets.”
Sir Edris looked coldly at her. “It isn’t about the harp, young lady. It’s about honor, and the thrill of the hunt.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Men and their hunting.”
Sir Edris paused, then asked, “Natalie, do you like puzzles or riddles?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to find something thousands of others couldn’t. The thrill of grasping some long-lost artifact in your bare hands! It’s an indescribable joy; there’s nothing like it.” He considered Natalie’s tear-sodden face, then knelt and put a massive hand on her shoulder. “I hope you find something that makes you feel such emotion.”
“So what about this gold harp?” Artis asked. “I mean, what happened to it?”
Natalie rolled her eyes again. “If people knew that, then it wouldn’t be much of a quest, now would it? It’d be more like a race.”
Artis glanced away, looking embarrassed.
Natalie slumped. “I’m sorry, Art. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s…it’s just all of this.” She waved her hands in the air. “I’m afraid for my life, and I haven’t slept soundly since Brago bashed my head into the street.” She felt her forehead. The brown lumps were almost gone.
“Regrettably, you speak all too shrewdly, young lady. It is a race, and I fear I’m falling behind.” Sir Edris tossed his leather gloves into Reg’s lap. “Reginald, prepare for an excursion tonight, after the midnight hour. Artis and Natalie, you’ll need to get some sleep. You’re coming with us.”
“What, on the quest?” Artis sounded more than a little hopeful.
But Natalie was terrified. “Where? And what about Brago? He might see me.”
“We’re going to the cathedral!” said Sir Edris. “And if my guess is correct, I’m almost positive Brago will be there.”
Chapter Twenty
Artis and Natalie slept in Reg’s room—Artis on the floor, Natalie on the perfumed featherbed. The mattress was so soft she sank six inches like she was being swallowed by a lavender-scented cloud. But it was exactly what she needed; for most of the day, she was dead to the world.
When Natalie finally staggered into Sir Edris’s parlor, she was groggy, but healthier—color had returned to her face, and the bruises around her eyes and on her forehead were barely noticeable.
Artis sat polishing one of Sir Edris’s two-handed swords, as Reg told him stories about their previous adventures. “Hey, Nat!” he called to her. “How are you feeling? Hungry? We brought you up some food.”
Natalie plopped down into one of the leather armchairs flanking the fireplace. She tried brushing away stray strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, but they kept falling back into her blurry eyes.
“You might want to let your hair down.” Reg slid a bejeweled dagger into its well-tended sheath. “It’ll make you look more like a woman.”
Natalie stopped fussing with her ponytail and scowled.
“Wrong thing to say,” Artis muttered, moving away from the expected argument.
“I simply mean,” said Reg, “that we’re telling people you’re Sir Edris’s bastard daughter, and—”
“Can you stop using that term, please?” Natalie asked, disgusted.
“You need to understand, Natalie, Sir Edris is allowing you to pretend you’re a bastard out of the graciousness of his heart. He’s being kind. Furthermore, as his bastard child, you aren’t guaranteed anything from him; you’re not entitled to any of his lands or his title when he dies.”
“I’m a woman,” Natalie retorted. “I’m not entitled to any of that, even if he were to claim me as his legitimate child.”
“Try the mutton.” Artis made yummy sounds as he held a plate under Natalie’s nose. “It’s really good. It practically melts in your mouth.”
She didn’t take it.
“Come on.” Artis thrust the plate into Natalie’s hands. “Sir Edris was good enough to buy it for us. And, oh! He bought you some new clothes!”
Natalie glanced at the clothes draped carefully over an empty chair. They were dresses, the kind that practically dragged along the ground. How anybody moved around in them, Natalie couldn’t guess. Still…they were pretty.
Artis handed her a fork.
“Please thank Sir Edris for me,” she said and, still eyeing the dresses, begrudgingly added, “They’re very becoming.”
“We can’t have you dressing like a beggar if we want people to think you’re the bast—that is, if we want people to believe you’re Sir Edris’s unwanted child.”
“Oh!” said Natalie, mouth full of tender mutton. “That’s much better! Unwanted! And if I were a good-looking boy with huge muscles, I’m sure Sir Edris would love to claim me as his legitimate child!”
“Nat, come on…” Artis nudged her.
Natalie swallowed. “I’m sorry—again. I really do appreciate what you and Sir Edris are doing for me—I do! It’s just that…I’m not used to being taken care of. I have a family who depends on me, so I have to get back to them as soon as I can. Any idea when I’ll be safe enough to go home?”
Reg’s smile seemed to hold a hint of pity as well as admiration. “We’ll parade you around for a few days, introducing you to everybody as one of Sir Edris’s offspring. We’ll make it known you’re his favorite.”
“And then what?”
Reg lifted a helpless hand. “Then we trust to luck and good fortune. That’s all we can do.”
Sir Edris barged into the room. “Ah, Nat! You’re up. Splendid.” He clapped his hands. “Change in plans, everybody. We’re going to the cathedral earlier than expected. Now, in fact. Get the gear, Reginald! Nothing too offensive, but something that will get the job done if things come to blows. Nat, you need to change. Come on, now! Hop to it!”
Natalie rushed back to Reg’s room and slipped on her new clothes. Althou
gh she hated to admit it, they felt nice on her, the way the clean, soft fabric hugged her hips and waist. She actually felt, well…attractive. And with her hair down over her shoulders, nobody would confuse her as a boy. Maybe if she grew it a little longer, Hadley could put some curls in it. Just a few.
Why did that please her? She’d never cared about such things before.
A loud rap rattled the door.
“You ready, Nat?” Sir Edris called from the hallway. “Remember, we’re in a race. Every moment counts!”
Natalie hastily slipped on her new shoes, looked in the mirror one last time, then tripped on the hem of her dress as she ran to the door. She landed with a loud thud.
The door flew open. “By the gods,” cried Sir Edris, “what’s going on in here? Are you all right? What happened?”
Natalie lay sprawled across the floor. “Stupid dress!” Sir Edris helped her up. “It tried to kill me.”
“Well, if we don’t get you out and about, somebody else might try to kill you, as well. So come, come! We have things to do.”
And so, with Natalie in tow, Sir Edris, Reginald, and Artis descended the steps to the inn’s common room. Twice, Natalie stumbled, nearly going headlong down the stairs. Had it not been for Reg’s quick hands, she could have cracked her skull open.
As soon as they entered the common room, a chorus of greetings showered them. Sir Edris went around, shaking hands with people he knew, many of whom were wealthy merchants from Upper Angle. He’d exchange pleasantries with each person, then introduce Natalie.
“And this”—he motioned her forward—“this is one of my illegitimate daughters, Natalie.”
Natalie tried to make her way over without tripping. She curtsied.
“She’s one of my very favorites!” Sir Edris announced to all within earshot. “Yes, indeed. She’ll make a fine wife for some fortunate fellow. What she may lack in appearances, she more than makes up for in spunk. And just look at her compact build and thick hips! You know what they say: short bride, sons have long stride!”
Women gathered around Natalie to admire her dress.
Natalie fought the urge to snarl.
Somebody asked who Artis was.
“Him? Oh…uh…” Sir Edris dithered. “Why, he’s Art, Natalie’s boyfriend.” Both Natalie and Artis tensed. “But they don’t seem to get along very well, so if you’re aware of any suitors who’d be appropriate to marry one of my children, she most certainly will be available.”
“You know,” said an older gentleman, who’d been introduced as Lord Claremore, “we have a grandson needing a wife. He isn’t terribly bright, by any account; in fact, I’m quite sure my hounds are smarter than he is.” He laughed. “Still, it’s all about the bloodlines, don’t you agree?”
“Exactly!” said Sir Edris. “And it’s about the money. I will certainly make sure she is well-kept. She’s my favorite, don’t you know?”
A buzz filled the room as everybody traded comments and questions about who might be willing to marry Natalie. Several men asked her if she knew how to manage a household. Natalie bit her tongue and nodded.
“Very well!” Sir Edris cried above the din. “Off to find a golden harp! Good seeing all of you.”
Even those from Winros Minor wished him luck, though he wasn’t one of their king’s adventurers.
When they’d gotten into the street, Natalie hiked up her skirt and hurried after the knight. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “I don’t need a husband!”
“Of course you do. Do you want end up being a spinster? You should get married as soon as possible.” He turned to Artis. “And terribly sorry for the crack about you two fighting all the time. I had to say something; that’s all that came to mind.”
“Not to worry,” Artis said, keeping right behind Sir Edris. “Nat and I are just friends.”
Sir Edris looked back at him and chuckled. “Ah, you have a lot to learn about women, don’t you?”
“Where are we headed, sir?” asked Reg.
“To the cathedral!” Sir Edris quickened his pace. “I spoke to Father Bartholomew, and he’s granted me permission to examine the artwork, although I’m sure he suspects I’m not coming for pleasure.”
• • •
As they approached the Cathedral of the Stars, Sir Edris slowed. “What the—?” He shook his fists. “Bollocks!”
Father Bartholomew stood on the cathedral steps, greeting a growing group of men, all of whom appeared to be adventurers.
Reg flicked his chin toward the adventurer shaking hands with the Father. “There’s Randell.”
“And Wendell, the little weasel.” Sir Edris cursed. “And I’m guessing that’s the new adventurer, Clowny.”
“Clooney,” Artis corrected him.
A street merchant came up to them. “Charms?” He held out a knotted wad of beaded necklaces. “Protects you from evil, hexes, and infected women!”
Sir Edris angrily waved him away.
The merchant held the necklaces out to Reg and Artis instead. “Sirs?”
“No, thank you,” said Reg.
The merchant ran off to accost other passersby.
Sir Edris studied the mob of at least a hundred men milling about the street in front of the cathedral. He gritted his teeth. “Oh, this is going to be worthless. What an utter waste of an evening.”
“What does this mean?” Natalie asked, still holding up her dress so she could move without stumbling.
“It means the good Father Bartholomew is playing all fields,” said Sir Edris. “I was going to promise him a hefty share of the reward money if he allowed us to look around the cathedral. Undoubtedly, everybody else had the same idea. Damn the greedy bastard.” He swore again under his breath. “Oh, very blasted well! Let’s just get this over with. Be pleasant everybody, and make sure you don’t contradict anything I say, or show surprise. Perhaps we can turn this miserable carnival to our advantage.”
He put on a big smile and jogged up the cathedral’s stairs, his shining mail jingling.
“Randell!” Sir Edris shook the hand of a tall, lean fellow with black hair pulled into a ponytail longer than anything Natalie had ever worn.
“Ah, Edris!” Randell clapped the knight’s back. “On this little expedition, as well? Splendid!” He glanced around. “Seems we’re not alone.”
“Unfortunately, this profession is getting a tad crowded.” Sir Edris watched as another dozen men came up the street toward the cathedral.
A horde of younger adventurers pressed in around them, shaking their hands and introducing themselves.
“Yes, yes,” said Sir Edris, impatiently. “It’s a tremendous honor to meet all of you, as well. Good luck on this quest. I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful experience. Thank you. Thank you, all.”
One of them asked if the knight could give him some pointers.
“It would be my pleasure,” Sir Edris told him, “but it’ll cost you four thousand gold!”
The crowd howled with laughter.
“Four thousand gold,” Randell muttered to Sir Edris when the rest of crowd had turned away to discuss other matters. “Ever wonder where the nobility come by that kind of money?”
“If you’ve seen how hard their peasants work, you’d know,” said Natalie, standing behind them.
Randell started, noticing Natalie for the first time. He smiled. “Yes. Quite right.”
“Wasn’t the Quest for the Horn of Borin the Brave five thousand?” asked Sir Edris, sliding Natalie a stern look.
“Was it?” said Randell. “I don’t recall. That was a bit before my time, and out of my realm, I’m afraid. The most I’ve ever won is eight hundred.”
Sir Edris waved to the young adventurers calling to him from across the crowd.
“Now, now. Don’t get discouraged,” he said to Randell. “You’re a damned fine credit to our profession. Why, you’ll probably skunk us on this Balen affair.”
At the top of the steps, Father Bartholomew shook the st
ring of little bells hanging by the door. “Gentlemen,” he called. The crowd quieted. “Gentlemen! I believe most of you are here now. Shall we proceed?” He threw open the cathedral’s great double doors.
“What’s this all about?” Sir Edris whispered to Randell as people slowly filed inside.
“Your guess is as good as mine, I’m afraid. An hour ago, we were in our rooms, planning our next steps, when the Father’s runner gave us a message. And here we are.” They inched closer to the cathedral’s entrance, men jostling about them. “My biggest fear is that the clergy has Balen’s harp and is selling it to the highest bidder. I have taxes to pay on my farms; I can’t afford to be giving any more to the Church than I already do.”
“I told you those farms would cost you in the end,” said Sir Edris.
“That you did, that you did.” They drew closer to the door. “Say, you wouldn’t be interested in buying them, would you? They’re wonderful investments.”
Sir Edris laughed. “Not on your life. Nothing ties a man down more than love and land.”
“All too true, it would seem.”
“They wouldn’t sell the harp, would they?” Reg asked. “The Church, I mean. If they had it, they’d have to give it to their king, right?”
“The Church has no king, my dear boy,” Randell replied. “They can do as they please.”
“As for myself,” said Sir Edris, seemingly irritated that the line wasn’t moving more quickly, “I don’t believe they have anything. It’s my guess that the good Father simply wants to hedge his bets.”
Finally, they entered the cathedral. The younger adventurers stood gazing at the star-filled dome above, mouths opened. Sir Edris and Reg, however, took seats at the rear of the nave. He beckoned for Natalie and Artis to join them.
“We’re in for a sermon,” he told them. “You just wait.”
Several men came up to Sir Edris, soft candlelight glinting off of their armor.
“Sir Edris!” said one in a thick accent. He was huge—bigger than even Sir Edris—and wore a breastplate adorned with a red sun rising over a white tower: the emblem for the kingdom of Havendor.
