Kethril (12 page)

Tathan was quick on his feet as always and
spun one of his stories to the innmaster. “We have no devices of
comfort at the moment. My lord wished to test himself against the
greatest dangers of the wilderness wearing only his armor, cloak
and sword. The wilderness never stood a chance and now my lord will
take a well deserved rest.” Liselle thought that was laying it on a
bit thick, but the innmaster and bellhop appeared suitably
impressed.

“Milord is most courageous to brave the
Kethril wilderness,” the innmaster said. “Please, allow Geff to
lead you to the room. Would you like your meals brought to
you?”

“That will be suitable, thank you,” Tathan
replied. As they followed the bellhop up to their rooms, Liselle
decided that she would come back down to the common room as soon as
possible to talk to people.

Liselle never went downstairs because she
and Anilyia fell asleep shortly after eating and taking baths. The
boys sat around the dining table in the luxurious living room of
the suite, relaxing with a bottle of wine. Sir Danth couldn’t
drink, but liked to hold a glass out of memory of the habit. A
crackling fire warmed the living room, spreading its heat to each
of the bedrooms.

Tathan had fallen in love with Princess
Anilyia and didn’t know what to do about it. She was pretty and
touching her skin felt amazing, but he also liked to talk to her.
The education she had received growing up was extraordinary. She
told him about things in the world he hadn’t even heard of in
rumors. In turn, he told her of his adventures and fascinated her
with the things he had learned firsthand.

Anilyia soaked up knowledge like a sponge.
She was arrogant about certain things, like peasants, but did what
was necessary to survive. At first, Tathan was worried about
getting her with child. He knew a few herbs and ways to prevent it,
but they didn’t always work and there weren’t any wizards in the
wilderness to make potions. When he mentioned his concern to her,
she pointed at one of her rings and explained that it prevented her
from becoming pregnant. It was wise for a princess to have such
protections, for even if they were chaste, bad things could
happen.

Anilyia had suggested that Tathan come work
at the palace where they could have a secret affair. She also
offered to become a rogue and travel the world with him, though she
made him promise they would occasionally stay somewhere nice. The
princess was in love with the thief and gave herself freely to him.
Now he had to make the decision what to do next and didn’t like
it.

It came down to the fact that while the
streets were dangerous for a skilled thief, they were deadly for an
inexperienced one. Nor did Tathan want her to learn the depravity
and despair he had seen. He was leaning toward taking her back to
Mayncal and having the affair. He worried about getting soft, but
it would be dangerous to have an affair with a princess and Tathan
liked danger.

A knock at the door startled them. Vevin had
nodded off in his chair or he most likely would have heard the
footsteps through the door. Tathan got up to answer it, waving for
the other two to relax. Vevin rubbed his face to bring back some
alertness.

At the door was a servant of the inn
escorting a man in a plain brown robe tied by a rope belt. Tathan
instantly recognized the man as a monk and, judging by the wild
eyes and ratty black hair, a fanatic monk. The servant glanced at
the monk in contempt before turning to Tathan. “This . . .
individual . . . said that it is urgent he speak with you. I tried
to put him off, but . . .”

Tathan sighed and nodded at the servant.
“May as well talk to him for a minute.” After deftly catching the
silver piece Tathan tossed, the servant bowed and went back down
the hallway, giving the fanatic wide berth.

The monk dripped inconsiderately on the
carpet inside the door as Tathan let him in. Vevin and Sir Danth
looked on in mild curiosity. “What do you want?” Tathan asked.

“Yes, you are Tathan of the Shadows, no?”
the monk asked in a creepy, rhythmic voice.

Faster than a person could blink an eye,
Tathan’s sword was at the monk’s neck. It drank hungrily of the
light from the fireplace and candles around the room.

“Yes, the hungry blade shows it to be true,
no?” The irises of his eyes were jagged blue and the whites were
bloodshot. He cackled, showing teeth that were yellowed and
rotting. Tathan turned his face to the side to avoid the putrid
odor emanating from the fanatic’s mouth.

Vevin and Sir Danth had come to Tathan’s
sides, ready to lend a hand. Tathan said in a low, dangerous voice,
“What exactly is it you want?”

“Yes, your coming was foretold, no?” the
monk asked, raising his head as though he knew something no one
else suspected . . . or wanted to suspect.

Vevin leaned next to Tathan’s ear and
whispered, “Why does he keep saying yes at the beginning and no at
the end every time he speaks? It’s confusing.” Tathan shrugged.

The monk either didn’t notice or didn’t
care. He continued to stare at Tathan with his eyes wide open as
though trying to bore a hole in Tathan’s head with his gaze. “Yes,
you are the one, no? Yes, you must come with me and meet the Holy
Prophet of the Goddess Telemooo, no?”

“Ahh, the Cow Goddess. That makes much more
sense,” Vevin leaned towards Tathan’s ear again. “Except for the
yes and no thing. I think this guy might be a little extra
crazy.”

Tathan nodded and whispered back. “I know,
right?” At the same time, he put his sword away. The monk might be
crazy, but he wouldn’t be able to overcome the three of them.
Aloud, he answered, “I’m not the one, and I have no desire to go
with you.”

The monk bent his knees and tilted his head
upward, opening his eyes even more as though that might help to
create the hole in Tathan’s head. “Yes, you must go with me, no?
Yes, if you don’t, then all the disciples of Telemooo come to you
and follow you to the end of days, no?”

“That could get inconvenient,” Sir Danth
said.

“Fine. I’ll come with you, but just to get
it over with.” Tathan went to change from his robe to his leggings
and jacket. He put on a spare shirt as well. Sir Danth and Vevin
stood in front of the monk with their arms crossed to prevent him
from going any further into the room. The crazed man stared at
Tathan’s head, still trying vainly to create a hole in it.

“Do you need us to come with you?” Sir Danth
asked as Tathan gestured for the monk to lead the way.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with this sort
of thing before. If I’m not back by morning, you might want to come
find me,” Tathan suggested. Vevin and the knight stepped back and
let them out. As they passed through the common room, the patrons
and staff looked at the fanatic in distaste. He, in turn, wasn’t
even aware of their presence.

Outside, the rain had lessened, but a light
sprinkle kept things miserable. The monk led Tathan onto the muddy
road heading north. There were few people out so late at night and
Tathan knew anyone who was out, was either drunk, dishonest or
both. He looked at the monk who was taking large exaggerated steps
and added crazy to that list.

Tathan stepped across the mud, barely making
any impression at all. It was a trick learned long ago from
real
monks. He had never heard of the goddess Telemooo, but
there were radical cults all over the world, usually led by
charismatic individuals high on mushrooms or other exotic drugs.
Occasionally, a powerful entity would find followers and get them
to do their bidding. Tathan wasn’t sure which kind this cult was
and didn’t care. He would listen to their words and give them some
sort of excuse as to why he couldn’t help them.

It took a good hour to get to a grassy field
with an immense barn in the middle. The moons lit the clouds,
giving everything a surreal lavender glow. Miserable looking cows
chewed cud in the rain. Tathan always considered cows to be
miserable creatures anyway, so it didn’t surprise him.

A cowled monk, illuminated by a single
torch, opened one of the large doors enough for them to enter.
Inside smelled the way a large barn should. There were only cows in
the stalls instead of goats, horses or other barnyard animals.
Monks moved about their chores, all with their hoods up. Tathan
could tell that some were women by the way they walked.

The barn was big, but not enough to house a
cult. Tathan wondered where the people stayed until he was led to a
wide stairway dug into the ground. Two large monks stood on either
side of it. He could tell they were capable of handling most
mundane trouble. They didn’t look at him as Tathan’s escort led him
down the rough steps that led deep into the world.

Tathan was stunned by the enormous cave when
they reached bottom a few minutes later. It wasn’t natural like the
caverns of the Rojuun and Tathan wondered how many years or decades
it had taken them to create it. He wished they had spent a few more
years creating a better vent system. Cows lived alongside unwashed
humans, making Tathan question how they got the livestock down. The
braced ceiling, about a hundred feet above them, was black from
soot. The monks used cow patties for fuel and it contributed to the
stench.

The smell became worse as they crossed the
cave. He could see tunnels in a few directions. Tathan assumed they
were sleeping quarters because trying to think of what other kinds
of rooms a cow cult might have hurt his head. Wooden and copper cow
statues were everywhere. Tathan thought a few looked more like
goats or pigs and one even looked like a chicken. He was wise
enough not to point out the flaws though. Most monks were lacking
in the appreciation of humor . . . or flaws.

A large wooden throne was on a dais against
the far wall. Above it towered a large upright cow statue with a
head that loomed down upon whoever might seek an audience. It
looked angry and ferocious . . . as ferocious as it was possible
for a cow to look.

On the throne was a short man who looked
even crazier than Tathan’s escort. He had greasy black hair past
his shoulder blades and a beard to match. It looked like small
patches of hair had been yanked out of the top of his head, perhaps
in fits of insanity. However, he radiated a visible aura of power
and Tathan could tell that some sort of deity touched the deranged
man. Things would have been much easier if the cult had been the
product of psychedelic mushrooms.

“Youuuuuu!” The Prophet pointed at Tathan.
“Youuuuuu are the one foretold of.” The way he uttered the end of
the ‘you’ sounded like a cow. Overall, his voice had a bovine
quality to it.

Tathan sighed and crossed his arms. He
didn’t respond because he was trying to breathe in as little of the
putrid air as possible. Instead, he studied the people who were
gathering around in anticipation. Every single one of them had the
eyes of a crazed zealot. Tathan didn’t mind religion and piety, but
getting crazy about it was more than he could handle.

“Youuuuuu are the savior of the sacred milk.
Prophecy has led youuuuuuu to us, Tathan of the Shadows.” The
Prophet pointed a bony finger at him. He was malnourished and as he
got off the throne and began walking toward Tathan, it became clear
that he suffered from a bent spine. “Youuuuuu have been guided to
us by divine cows. They have been watching youuuuuu.”

Tathan arched an eyebrow. “Cows have been
watching me? That’s a bit unnerving.”

“Yes! Cows have been watching youuuuuu,
guiding youuuuuu to the sacred barn of Telemooooooooo.” The name of
their goddess came out exactly like a cow’s moo. All of the
followers mooed as well.

Tathan tried to resist laughing by ducking
his head and covering his forehead with a hand. He failed. His
shoulders shook and strangled laughs forced their way past his
throat.

“I know youuuuuu are touched by the honor.
It is understandable that youuuuuu would be overcome by emotion.”
The Prophet patted Tathan on the arm.

Tears rolled down Tathan’s cheeks and he
gasped rancid air in an attempt to gain control. Since traveling
with Liselle, he had seen too many things beyond the realm of
explanation. The church of the cow pushed him over the edge and all
the stress of the past few months came down in an avalanche of
emotion. Tathan slapped his leg and fell to his knees, unable to
breathe. It took him a moment to inhale a ragged breath before
collapsing into more laughter.

The Prophet raised his hands into the air
and yelled, “He is overcome with the divine madness of cows! It is
a sign!” The crowd nodded, accepting their Prophet’s word. He went
back to staring at Tathan with manic eyes.

Tathan finally regained his composure and
wiped his eyes. When the Prophet was certain Tathan was finished,
he said, “Youuuuuu must fulfill a holy quest given to us by the
Sacred Udder.”

He lost patience when Tathan burst into
laughter again. “Youuuuuu must accept the quest! Do not ridicule
the Sacred Udder!” He smacked Tathan across the face.

The change was instant and shocking. One
moment Tathan was laughing, the next he was dead silent. The
Prophet took a step back at the expression on the rogue’s face.
Tathan slowly exhaled and calmed his nerves. He just wanted to get
out of the cave. “What exactly do you want?” he asked in a
stone-cold tone.

“Youuuuuu must rescue the Sacred Bucket of
Milk from the Island of Carnivorous Fairies,” the Prophet said,
raising both arms and one foot into the air in a dramatic gesture.
Like everything else about the experience, it was over the top.

There was no way Tathan was going to mess
with carnivorous fairies, especially not on an island where there
was no escape. “Forget it. Not interested. I have other things to
do right now that are more important than your bucket.” He turned
to leave.