The morning air was filled with the scent of cooking fires and the ringing of bells as Artis and Reg followed Natalie, weaving through Winros Minor’s crowded streets.
“So she just kicked you?” Artis asked.
“Right in the groin,” Reg affirmed. “Never saw it coming.”
Natalie chortled. “So much for your training as a knight.”
“I’ve trained with blade and bow,” Reg replied, his long strides easily keeping up with Natalie’s trotting, “against singular and multiple opponents. I merely haven’t been trained for hysterical women.”
Natalie spun round.
“Wrong thing to say,” Artis whispered.
“Quite right.” He bowed to Natalie. “My apologies. Please, lead on.”
“Think you could teach me a few things?” Artis asked Reg after Natalie had resumed shoving her way through the growing mass of merchants, pilgrims, and passersby. “Fighting with a sword, I mean.”
“Do you have a sword?”
“Well, no, not exactly. But perhaps I’ll buy one.”
“Why would you get a sword?” Natalie asked bitterly.
“Well”—Artis shrugged—“I am looking for a profession. If being a brewer doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll become an adventurer!”
Natalie grunted a laugh.
“Believe me,” said Reg, “I’d love to be a brewer. Or a tavern owner. In fact, that’s what I plan on doing after I serve my time with the king.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Adventuring’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Reg followed Natalie up another street. “Sleeping on hard ground, rocks jabbing you in back. Rain. Cold. People trying to kill you.”
“People try to kill you?” Artis asked eagerly. “Who?”
“Other adventurers, usually. If you eliminate the competition, the quests become that much easier.”
“I didn’t realize you all tried to kill each other!” Artis considered this. “Well, that’d certainly change things.”
“Oh, not all of us go in for those kinds of things. Certainly, Sir Edris would never harm another adventurer, not unless pressed to do so. He killed Sir Bactavious in a duel, and a few others. All from other kingdoms, you understand. Killing King Michael’s adventurers would be improper.”
“But Brago’s an adventurer for King Michael,” Artis pointed out.
Natalie bristled at the name.
“Brago goes to whomever offers him the most money.”
“Really? I didn’t think that was allowed.”
Reg gave a noncommittal shrug. “What’s allowed is a tad tricky.”
“He means you can get away with anything you want,” Natalie said, disgusted, “as long as you win. I hate men.” She resumed stomping up the street.
“Anyway,” Reg said after an uncomfortable pause, “killing somebody merely begets more killing. Families get involved, and minor wars flare up. Honestly, if I were you, I’d be a brewer. Nobody ever tries to kill the brewer. In fact, in most towns, they’re heroes.”
“I don’t understand,” said Artis. A horse-drawn cart rattled by. “If you don’t want to be a knight, why are you Sir Edris’s squire?”
“I’m the fourth son in a noble family. The eldest gets the land and the title. The second is a successful merchant. The third, a cleric.”
“So being a knight is the only thing left?”
“Something like that. Don’t get me wrong,” said Reg, “I’m blessed to have the life I have. Still, it would be nice to have something less transitory.”
“Transitory?”
“How many elderly knights do you know?”
Artis held up a finger as if to indicate he knew of such a knight, then lowered it, his expression becoming more contemplative.
“Exactly.” They caught up to Natalie again. “As soon as you get older, your reflexes slow, your strength ebbs. Eventually, every younger knight who wants to make a name for himself wants to fight you in a duel. I tell you, brewers and tavern owners have a much better life—a warm bed, a roof over their heads, mugs of good ale always near at hand—”
“Oh, will you two shut up?” Natalie snapped. “It’s like you don’t even care some lunatic is after me! You prattle on about sleeping on the hard ground and being cold and hungry.” She stopped. “You know, some people are always cold and hungry and tired! Trust me, Mr. Nobility, it’s no fun being poor.” She drove her way between two men discussing the coming Market Festival.
“What was that all about?” Reg asked Artis as they hurried to keep step.
“I’ll explain later,” Artis replied, waving away several street merchants holding out food and clothing. “So, how long have you been with Sir Edris? You must have some incredible stories to tell. Were you with him when he won the Quest for the Ivory Boar?”
Reg chuckled. “That wasn’t much of a quest. We found it in some farmer’s attic after two days of looking. Getting it to King Michael was the real difficulty; everybody knew we had it, which is never a good thing. But to answer your question, I’ve been with him since I was twelve. Another two years, and I’ll serve as one of the king’s men.”
A flock of beggar children ran up, holding out their dirty hands. Reg gave them each a few coins—mainly bronze and copper—then shooed them away.
“Perhaps after that, I’ll be able to become a knight. How about you? How long have you been Natalie's boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Natalie shouted.
People in the street stopped and stared at her.
“Well, if he isn’t,” called an old man, “maybe you’ll give me a try!” He gave a toothless grin.
Everybody laughed, but Natalie huffed and quickened her pace.
“I’m kind of like you,” Artis said to Reg, matching Natalie’s step, “without the noble blood, that is.”
“How so?”
“Well, my family owns an orchard.”
“You actually own the land?” Reg asked, impressed.
“Yup! We’ve had it for five generations. King Horis the Second gave us a charter. We have it framed and everything. The trees are good and strong; the land is well-drained. We sell everything we grow, either in raw fruit, or jams and cider.”
“But you have brothers?”
“Four,” Artis said, a bit dejected. “The eldest will keep the orchard when my father dies, which is a shame, seeing as I’m pretty good at making cider.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Honestly”—Artis exhaled heavily—“I don’t know.”
Natalie entered the Yellow Rose Inn.
“Is this it?” Reg asked. “Quaint. Not where I thought you two would be staying at all.”
They walked briskly behind Natalie into the common room, where the innkeeper immediately greeted them. “Morning, gentlemen. Breakfast is ready, if you have a mind.” Puzzled, he motioned to Natalie’s hair. “You have a bit of a…”
Natalie ran her fingers through her bangs. Twigs and dried leaves fell to the floor. She snarled at Artis.
Artis backed away, hands up. “I didn’t want to say anything!”
“You know,” said the innkeeper, pleasantly, “we have a superb bath house. Just three copper.”
“Thank you,” said Artis, “we’ll let you know.” He followed Natalie to the stairway.
“You let me walk around with twigs in my hair?” Natalie growled once they’d gotten out of earshot.
“Look,” Artis said defensively, “every time I say something about your clothes or appearance or anything, you hit me.”
“At least she doesn’t kick you in the groin,” Reg pointed out optimistically.
“Nat, when have you ever cared about your appearance?”
“Oh, never mind!” Natalie stormed down the hallway.
“Let’s focus on why we came, shall we? Which one’s your room?”
“Here.” Natalie fished out her key and opened a door to their left. She rushed in, Artis and Reg following.
Artis pointed to the wide-open window, lace curtains fluttering in the breeze. “I could have sworn—”
Natalie slid her arms frantically under the mattress, and then threw it to the floor. She stood staring where the mattress used to be.
“What’s wrong?” Reg asked.
“They’re gone,” she said. “Somebody stole the books and papers!”
Artis stood by the open window. “Nat…”
“I’m dead.” Natalie collapsed into the chair. “I’m as good as dead!”
“Don’t say that,” Reg told her. “Where there’s life, there’s always hope.”
“He’s going to kill me!” Natalie cried.
“Reg.” Artis pointed to the busy street below.
Reg joined him and looked out the window. “Well, now things will get interesting.”
Natalie choked back a sob. “What is it?”
Artis hesitated and then said, “Brago’s in town.”