Princess of Prophecy (Servants of the Lady), page 12
“No.” Gunthar's eyes blazed. “We had lunch on the terrace of a gastropub. It's totally different.”
“Ah.” The councilor turned to Maryan. “Any luck finding a Prophecy Scholar, Your Highness?”
“We may have found one,” she said.
The councilor's eyes widened.
“But,” she continued, “do you think that will be enough? We need the mayor to let us into the Badlands, and appoint that candidate Onkar to be the bishop.”
The councilor spread his hands as they reached the courtyard by their rooms. “It's worth a try, ma'am.”
“Wait, Your Highness,” said Apprentice Yang. “Don't we also need a ranger?”
Maryan took a drink of chilled water from the pitcher at the table. “Councilor, we are also looking for a ranger.”
“We thought we'd find a ranger on the way here,” noted Gunthar. “Normally, rangers are everywhere. But we haven't seen any.”
Princess Maryan realized that they'd come all this way without seeing a single ranger. Not in Offerdell, or the Plains, or the river, or in Bluntworth. Where were all the rangers? A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “Uh-oh. A cold feeling has settled in the pit of my stomach.”
Yang pointed to the pitcher at the table. “Well, ma'am, it's probably because you are hot from walking around town all day and climbing the stairs, and then you took a drink of chilled water.”
“Oh yes, that must be it. But why haven't we seen any rangers?”
“They're all at the great Ranger Convention, of course. It happens once every five years.” Councilor Wilson pointed out to the west. “This time, it's in Southport. I'm sure you can find one if you go there.”
“They're all at a Ranger Convention in Southport?” Maryan frowned. “That's weeks from here. What if we need a ranger here in Bluntworth?”
“Then you're out of luck, ma'am.”
The princess heaved a long sigh. “Nothing in this prophecy is really going to plan. Still, we'll make do with what we've got.”
That evening, they assembled in the courtyard again.
Gunthar looked positively regal in a subtly patterned maroon robe with gold trim. Maryan had managed to rent it from the merchants in the northern quarter of town, although there had been a last-minute snafu when Gunthar had declared the sandals they'd supplied didn't match the fringe, and they'd had to swap them out right as the merchants closed for the day.
His long hair flowed in long, golden braids. “Oh, my,” exclaimed Maryan. “Your hair looks amazing. Where did you get that done?”
“The knight.” Gunthar jerked his head over at Sir Humphrey, who adjusted a necklace.
“I have a younger sister,” explained the knight. The necklace was another rental item, a large ruby pendant hanging from a gold chain. He placed it around Gunthar's neck.
“Ah, good, I see you got a ruby one. The emerald one clashed.” Gunthar nodded approvingly, then tapped the pendant with a frown. “No, not that tight. You saw pendants in Haffleton. People are wearing them with longer chains this year.”
“Of course, good sir, my apologies.” Sir Humphrey adjusted the necklace.
Yang entered the courtyard, carrying a small flask. A thin blue mist cascaded out of the open top. “The Potion of Erudition,” she declared.
“When should Gunthar take it?” asked Maryan.
“Around now, Your Highness.” Yang looked at the long, golden sunlight bathing the rooftops near them. “The potion takes about an hour to start working, then lasts for three or four hours.”
“Very well,” said Maryan.
Gunthar took the flask and sniffed at it suspiciously, then his eyebrows went up. “Smells like pine needles.”
“I added that,” said Yang.
“Here goes nothing,” said Gunthar. He drank from the flask in a single big gulp, then belched. “Tastes like a horse took a **** in my mouth.”
Cornelius paled. “It's not working. He still talks like a barbarian.”
“Like I said, the potion needs an hour to take effect.”
“Let's get going,” said Maryan. “We need to get down to the town square for the feast.”
They descended the staircase, and Councilor Wilson joined them at the palace gates. “Good evening, Your Highness, adventurers,” said the man with a bow. He also wore a formal robe, with a large gold medallion on his chest. “I'd heard all the Prophecy Scholars had left the city, but you seem to have found one.” He gestured at Gunthar. “Are you related to Scholar Markus, by any chance?”
“A nephew,” said Yang.
“Whatever,” said Gunthar. He belched again, then addressed Yang. “I thought you said I wouldn't be gassy?”
“I can't help it. I had to use carbonated water.”
“Wait, do I know him?” The councilor raised an eyebrow at Maryan.
“He's feeling a little rough right now,” she explained. “But I'm sure he'll be fine in a few minutes.”
“Very well, ma'am. If you'll follow me…”
The councilor led them down the street to the square between the Mayor's palace and the town cathedral.
Earlier, when they'd met Onkar, the square had been deserted. But now tables filled the area, townspeople milling around with large platters of food and tankards of rich ale. The surrounding buildings were festooned with lanterns and flowers and garlands of green ivy, banners hanging from the palace and the cathedral. The walls echoed with the sounds of people talking and joking and toasting.
A few large tables stood above the rest, on the landing in front of the cathedral. The mayor sat in a large chair at the center table, with several of the town worthies around him.
“This way,” said the councilor, leading them up the steps.
A nearby table of townspeople quieted, and they pointed at Gunthar, eyes wide.
“Can't we grab some grub?” complained Gunthar. “I'm hungry enough to eat a mule.”
“Where exactly did you find this Scholar?” Councilor Wilson squinted at Gunthar again.
“He's new to the Scholar business,” said Maryan, taking the councilor's arm and propelling him ahead. “But don't worry. He'll hit his stride soon.”
“Yeah, right,” snorted Gunthar.
“Ah, of course,” said the councilor. “Here is the table you'll be sitting at.” They had arrived at a large table on the edge of the landing, next to the mayor's table. Servants bustled around them and laid out plates of food.
“Now that's more like it!” exclaimed Gunthar, seeing a roast boar laid out nearby.
“Indeed, sir, 'tis a feast worthy of the name.”
“I'll leave you here then, Your Highness, adventurers.” The councilor bowed, then walked up to his seat at the Mayor's table.
“So when do I do the Scholar thing?” asked Gunthar. He held a large, greasy boar leg in his hand.
“Um, well, I think we'll wait for a chance to address the high table later. We need to convince the Mayor and other councilors that the prophecy is real.”
“Great.” He took a bite, then talked through a mouth full of roast boar. “So maybe after the second course?”
“Oh, this is a disaster.” Cornelius shook his head.
“I know I should have asked earlier, but are there any side effects of the potion?” asked Maryan.
“None, really,” said Yang. “It's pretty safe, as far as potions go. However,” here she wagged a finger at Gunthar, “you shouldn't mix it with mango juice.”
“Mango juice?” A piece of boar meat fell out of Gunthar's mouth, and he stuffed it back in. “I love mango juice.”
“Yes, well, it's not likely to come up anyway.”
Cornelius looked around the party with concern. “What if the Mayor serves mango juice?”
“That would be most improbable, respected Chronicler. We are in a northern latitude, well above the fortieth parallel. Transporting tropical fruit would pose severe logistical challenges. Transporting juice even more so.” Gunthar stopped speaking, his face white with shock. He looked down to his hands, which were carefully cutting the boar leg with a knife and fork. “By the sparkling prose of Saint Gertrude!”
“It looks like the potion has taken effect.” Yang looked up at the darkening sky. “Just under an hour, as expected. The pine needles helped, I think.”
“Wow, it really works!” Maryan's eyes went wide.
Gunthar raised a goblet, his pinky finger extended. “Indeed, Apprentice Yang, we toast both your proficiency and your perspicacity.”
Sir Humphrey raised his goblet uncertainly. “Is that an appropriate toast for mixed company?”
“I like this new barbarian!” Cornelius toasted the table, then drank.
“More roast boar, sir?” asked a servant.
“Nay, but thank you, good man.” Gunthar waved at the common table. “Earlier, I descried a most delightful incorporation of lettuce, apple, and pecan. If you have it, a moderate amount of such would tide me until the final course.”
The servant nodded and retreated.
Maryan sat back with her goblet. “It looks like the feast might go well after all.”
“Hello, Your Highness, is this seat taken?” A tall young man in fringed leathers sat next to her, his dark hair cropped short and a small diamond glittering from a piercing in his ear. “It is now!”
“Oh, hey, look! Goblets!” Another young man sat next to him, also in leather, his short blond hair in a similar cut.
“Excuse me?” asked Maryan.
“Of course!” The man with the earring swept a hand back across his chest. “I am Sir Chad, of the Southport Borderlands.”
“Ah,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “You are my mother's friend's cousin's half-brother.”
“The same!”
“And I am Squire Brock, at your service, Your Highness.” The blond man leaned over at her, as if bowing, his goblet extended.
“My wingman!” exclaimed Sir Chad, and they exchanged a complicated fistbump-handshake-elbow-bump.
“Wingman!” echoed Squire Brock.
“Wingman?” asked Cornelius.
“Oh, hey there, yeah. It's a term we picked up from the estuary. There're these big fat gray swan things that always fly in pairs.” Sir Chad made a flapping motion to illustrate.
“Anser's gray goose, as noble a wayfarer as one will find in the western basin. Seasons ago, I would observe the flocks on their annual migration north across the tundra.” Gunthar raised his goblet. “O, the sight of it! To see an entire acre of geese, congregating and discoursing through the day, soaring together in the evening thermals. As if an entire civilization had peregrinated at once to the northern shores.”
Sir Chad laughed, then hesitated. “Is he all right?”
Yang leaned over to address him. “He's a Prophecy Scholar.”
“'Tis always a pleasure to meet a fellow knight,” said Sir Humphrey. “To which liege are you pledged?”
“I am pledged to the Lord of Party!” roared Sir Chad.
“Party!” echoed Squire Brock, and they exchanged their complicated fist bump again.
“I don't know those lands,” said Sir Humphrey with a frown. “Is Party further south?”
“I'm just kidding, bro,” said Sir Chad. “I am a knight under the Lord of Southport.”
“So there is no land of Party?”
“How did you enjoy the estuary?” interjected Maryan.
“It's cold and wet, ma'am. But we rocked it anyway, didn't we?” He went to fist bump his squire again, but Brock had his goblet up and intently gulped down its contents, so he turned back to Maryan. “We rocked it.”
“Rocking? By which you mean geological investigation? Not many scholars appreciate it, but the southern estuaries contain many mineralogical surprises. Whilst most of the wetlands are sand or peat, past episodes of glaciation have deposited several boulders, carried from beyond the Teeth of Janks. More than one geologist has stumbled across geodes in the reeds! To say nothing of the wonders of the hydrology, of course.”
Sir Chad stared intently at the barbarian, his smile fading. “What's he saying?”
“More wine!” The squire raised his goblet, and one of the servants ran over with a large pitcher. “And no need to water it down this time.”
“I'm sorry, sir,” said the servant. “All the wine is watered. It's tradition at the feast.” The man filled both Brock and Sir Chad's cups again.
“Oh, all right then.” Brock waited until the servant had finished pouring, then fished a small flask out of his jacket. “Your wingman saves the day!” He poured a small amount of whatever was in the flask in his and Sir Chad's goblets.
“We should get to know each other, right, Your Highness?” said Sir Chad with a grin. “Why don't I spend the time telling you all about myself?”
“Indeed, Sir Chad, I can't imagine the evening going any other way.”
Sir Chad launched into a rambling story about how he and Brock had bumped into a troll's hut in the estuary, a telling slowed down by the squire's constant interruptions to back up and explain his contributions in more detail. Maryan lost track of the thread.
“And so, ma'am, there we were, hungry and in our underwear, when the troll returned with a deer—”
Brock shook his head. “No, Sir Chad, it wasn't a deer. It was an elk.”
“An elk? Are you sure?”
“Had to be. It looked like a deer only because a troll was carrying it.”
“Sorry,” interrupted Yang, scratching her head. “Why were you in your underwear?”
“Go back, bro! Tell her about the goblins in the hollow log again.” Squire Brock lifted his goblet with an unsteady hand.
“Excuse me, Your Highness.” The councilor stood in front of their table. “Now would be a good time to address the Mayor and the rest of the town council.”
“Of course!” Maryan stood. “Gunthar, please join me.”
“Fine folk of Bluntworth!” The Mayor stood at his table, a hand raised, and the square quieted a moment as everyone turned to hear what he said. “We have a special treat at tonight's feast. Merchant Connor is a close and personal friend of mine.” The Mayor waved at a fat man in a greasy green robe, who beamed back. “As a gift to the town, and a sign of support for my administration, he has shipped an entire cargo of mango from the southern continent at his expense. Tonight, we are providing everyone a glass of mango juice!”
“What?” Yang's mouth hung open. “That's not possible.”
“Mango juice!” Sir Chad and Squire Brock exchanged their complicated fistbump again.
Gunthar heaved a great, longing sigh. “Ah, that heavenly nectar. If one were to bottle a daydream and infuse it with honey, would it be any sweeter?”
Sir Chad lifted his goblet to the barbarian. “Right on, bro!”
“Your mango juice, Your Highness,” said a servant as he placed a small glass of the golden liquid in front of Maryan.
“Don't drink it, Gunthar,” warned Yang as another servant placed a similar glass in front of the barbarian.
“Of course, Apprentice Yang. This is a parable regarding temptation, is it not? Whether to abstain and endure a wasting sense of loss in service of one's duty to abstract objectives, or to capitulate to physical desire and sample passion incarnate?”
“Don't drink it,” the apprentice repeated.
“Come, Gunthar, now's our chance.” Maryan walked over to the Mayor's table.
“Aye, ma'am, it is our highest ideals to which I remain steadfastly committed.” The barbarian followed her, upright in his regalia.
A councilor in a blue gown noticed Gunthar's approach first, and she fixed her gaze on him as the barbarian strode with calm, deliberate steps to the front of the table. The lady's companion stopped talking, also fixed on Gunthar, and one by one the other worthies quieted and stared, until even the Mayor himself turned and regarded the regal Prophecy Scholar.
Maryan raised her chin. The plan would work, after all. Gunthar had their undivided attention, and the aura of a Prophecy Scholar would lend more authority to their request. Certainly, they could convince many of the council of the need to confront the Lich King, and win the popular backing of the townspeople as well. The Mayor would have to let them go at that point.
“Mayor, councilors, worthies of Bluntworth.” Maryan bowed. “I am Princess Maryan of Offerdell, and I have come with a Prophecy Scholar, a nephew of the respected Scholar Markus.”
Several of the councilors gasped, and the councilor in blue leaned forward. If anything, the focus of the worthies only increased.
Below the steps, the tables of townspeople quieted. They also stared up, curious to see what Maryan and Gunthar would say.
Maryan raised her voice so that all in the square could hear. “We have come a great distance, and endured many perils, to speak with you today.” She gestured to Gunthar and backed up to give him center stage. “The Prophecy Scholar has information of utmost consequence to you and your future.”
The square fell deathly quiet, and Gunthar stepped forward.
He nodded to the worthies and the Mayor, then jumped spryly atop their table and turned to face the square, his arms spread wide. “Who wants to hear a song about a horny dragon?” he yelled.
“Yeah!” Sir Chad and Squire Brock raised their goblets in unison. Several of the townspeople cheered.
Maryan turned to the apprentice with a look of shock, and both dropped their eyes to the barbarian's place at the table.
His glass of mango juice stood empty.
Yang raised a hand to her face. “Oh, no…”
Cornelius went white. “I hope he's not referring to Plucky the Dragon from Huck. That song is banned in most of the east, and for good reason.”
“This is called Plucky the Dragon from Huck!” Gunthar began singing in a loud and clear voice, kicking up his sandals and making hand gestures to illustrate.
There was a young troll from Halden
He had a big **** but his **** were stuck
He **** them and **** them but they just wouldn't ****
What did he need? He needed a ****!
Sir Humphrey approached the princess uncertainly. “'Tis a most unusual introduction. Mayhaps he will introduce the prophecy after the rude song?”
