“They just walk away?” asked the priestess.
“Sure, or fail in a task, or reject a calling. The Elven armies were led by some nameless general before Issan took over and stood against the Sten, but the nameless fool didn’t take the chance to kill the Dark Prince. And who knows how many young ladies chose not to climb the desert paths that Lady Tiaga braved? History’s full of people who might’ve saved the world if they hadn’t decided to take over the family business or see how things worked out with a lover.” He thought about that for a moment. “I mean, history’s not full of people like that. But they were there. You get my point.”
Pathalan grimaced up at the statue. “So all this is happening because someone’s getting close to… what? Finding an army? Or leading one?”
“I leave that for the gods to sort out.” Brouse gave a noncommittal shrug. “There’s all kinds of different fated verses and prophetic whatsit out there waiting for their respective chosen one, or the stars to align, or the sun to hit some gem just right, and different gods are always angling to get different ones fulfilled. That’s why they’re always muckin’ with things. And it’s probably why all you temples have this strange stuff going on.”
“You think the gods are behind this?” Pathalan, like many members of the clergy, had a strong faith that the gods were responsible for much of the past, and an even more emphatic belief that they almost never had anything to do with the present.
“Probably. They’re usually behind this sort of silliness.” Brouse cast a suspicious eye at the clergy. “Shouldn’t a bunch of priestesses and clerics know all this? What are they teaching you here?”
The assembled clergy suddenly took a great interest in the floor and ceiling. A few acolytes cleared their throats. “The All Mother’s teachings are less practical than some other gods,’” said High Scribe Pathalan with well-rehearsed understatement.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Brouse darkly.
“But what do we do about the statue?” asked an acolyte.
The monk shrugged. “Got any young priestesses with a secretive past? Portentous birth marks? Unknown lineage coupled with a vague sense that life should hold something more?”
“Alithana has a weird mole and acts like she’s better than everybody,” offered one acolyte, earning herself a smack on the head from a nearby priestess.
“Well, I’d keep my eye on her, then. Or anyone else who might fit the bill.” Brouse began packing his suitcase back up. “Seen destiny in action before. Something’s coming to a head, and we won’t know what until we’re on the other side of it. With luck, it’s just someone who needs to realize they’re actually capable of slayin’ a bugbear or avengin’ their mum or something.”
“And without luck?” asked Pathalan, edging away from the statue.
“Then a real hero of legend might rise,” Brouse said.
“That seems like a good thing,” said Alithana. “The world needs more heroes these days.”
“Nah, the world needs more caring people willing to do hard work for the common good.” Brouse grabbed his pack and grimaced up at Niln’s face. “But bein’ nice and sacrificing for others don’t get you in the Agekeeper’s scrolls. To be a legend? To have some big, reality-warping destiny, a hero needs somethin’ really horrible to stand against. You don’t get that sort of hero without a darkness that might destroy all of Arth.”
Chapter 18
“A vile foe that menaces all of humanity… fate of the world rests in the balance… great shadow falls over the entire world…” Heraldin skimmed the scroll, murmuring key passages to himself as he read. He had to squint to see in the gloom of the tavern; even at midday, only a few veteran rays of light managed to fight through the dark clouds hovering over the city and the layers of grime on the glass.
Gaist hovered in the shadows next to the bard’s table, apparently content to let the paper speak for itself.
Beneath the boilerplate sections on doom and gloom, respectively, the parchment outlined a job.
Mandatorily Assigned Imperatively Necessary Quest
Let it be known that the hero
Gaist
as one of the six Heroes of the City, is hereby summoned by His Royal Highness,
Johan the Mighty
King of Andarun, Champion of Tandos
and
Weaver Ortson
Grandmaster and High Councilor of the Heroes’ Guild
To undertake a MAIN Quest to save the kingdom and slay
The Dragon of Andarun
The Party shall assemble at the Palace of Andarun by the 24th of Al’Matra’s month, at midday, to be charged with this holy task, and shall enter the dungeon before the First of Tandos.
“This must be the king’s big move,” said Heraldin. “The one that Gorm anticipated would come when the king returned.”
Gaist nodded.
“And that means a guild courier is likely somewhere with a similar letter for me,” the bard said.
Gaist didn’t disagree.
“Interesting.” The bard sat as still as the weaponsmaster for a long, silent moment, his eyes staring through the page to some vision on the other side. Then Heraldin vanished in a brightly colored blur, leaving a couple of giltin clattering on the table and a very surprised weaponsmaster staring at his seat.
The bard made it two blocks Baseward before Gaist caught up with him, and that was only because Heraldin was sticking to the shadows and the back alleys. “I knew that cloaked figure outside my apartment was up to no good,” the bard said as the weaponsmaster fell into line. “I just assumed it was a debt collector or one of Benny’s old thugs, maybe even an assassin. I had no idea it would be this bad.”
The doppelganger stared at him through narrowed eyes.
“Yes, I meant it. And I mean to avoid it,” said Heraldin. He checked across the street, then took the Ridgeward gate down to the Second Tier and dove back into the alleyways.
