That One Time I Went on a Quest

Set

Dear Mother:

Got the job and a six-month advance. Be happy for me; if not, for the receipt of eighteen hundred crowns I have attached. Lady Kathanhiel has lent me her personal courier. She is the most amazing person I have ever known. No offence.

Soon we'll be going north to find the lair of Rutherford, which will take anywhere between a season and a decade. Yes, a decade. Do you still think Elisaad a type of exotic cheese? You do don't you. Then be assured your son is going to become the greatest tyromancer in all the lands. You don't know what a tyromancer is either do you.

Spend the money on something nice. Like curtains for my window. I would like that when I get back, please.

Take care,

Kastor, esquire to Kathanhiel.

There are a hundred menial errands that have to be sorted out before we leave, one of which is the ever-growing inventory list that the quartermaster had delegated shamelessly onto me. Apparently, Kathanhiel requires thirteen weights of bear fat, fifteen pre-sealed envelopes, twelve(twelve!) waterskins, three rolls of leather inlays, two boxes of lavender incense, two boxes of dried Island tea, seven (seven!) jar of chrysanthemum oil, twelve measures of a gooey balm called 'tundra essence'...

Then there are the horses, which I, poor city-dweller who has only ever ridden the soles of his feet, am now responsible for. The name of Kathanhiel's white stallion happens to be Bobby; this magnificent animal – with a mane of moonlight and legs more muscular than the jowls of a dragon – has the same name as the three-legged mutt that picks at the trash on the corner of my street.

My own horse – a chestnut that chews on anything from leather to rope to my gauntlet that just came out of the smithy two days ago – I have named Killisan, after the World Devourer in the Hymn of Creation.

The King was supposed to be here to see us off, but a week before the departure ceremony the youngest princess, apparently a born explorer, caught pneumonia after taking a morning dip in the palace pond. Consequently, His Majesty has decided to cancel the event so he can look after his daughter. This is because, of course, twenty royal physicians do not provide enough medical expertise.

Kathanhiel, as it turns out, doesn't really care.

'It is for the best,' she says. 'He's afraid I might try to borrow his men again. Did you know he's building another winter palace? Something about flooded basements, I am told.'

Haylis, on the other hand, is crestfallen. Every night she has charged into my room, insisting that I tell her whether the lacy dress would go well with the lacy gloves, whether the crown prince will like her hair, so on and so forth, then she would berate me on how stupid and irrelevant my opinions are the moment I give them.

'But what about my nightingale dress?!' she cries one night, as if such grave injustice should elicit my sympathy. 'I bought it just for the ball!'

I try to be reasonable. 'Shouldn't you be getting ready for our quest? How have you prepared?'

'I didn't sign the contract, stupid. Go do your chores.'

This is coming from someone who has spent her days lounging around in the garden, ordering her personal troop of servants to pack her bags and picking out what clothes to bring. Without signing the contract, she is not obligated to do anything esquire-ly, and by the looks of it she most definitely doesn't need the three hundred crowns.