"To Be Chosen"

 OF GODS AND MEN

Chapter 7: The Cost of a Quest

            Tarsus was captivated.  Malthanon stood before him, showered in the red-gold light of the setting sun.  From atop his horse, he marveled at this glimmering jewel of a city; one he had often imagined, yet one that proved to be greater and more beautiful than anything in his wildest dreams.
            At the center of it all was the most breathtaking construction: a palace so vast and so intricately built, that it must have been conjured by the GodKing himself.  Malthus’s castle stood three levels high: an oval dome at the bottom that was the GodKing’s cathedral, above that was the palace itself, and atop the palace was a majestic spire.  The spire shot so far into the heavens, that the top disappeared into the perpetual clouds that surrounded it.
            Tarsus had never been to Malthanon before.  He had always dreamed of settling within its walls; back when he was still fool enough to believe he would become a knight of the KingsGuard.  But Drake had shattered that dream a week and some days ago.  He suddenly wondered if he would see Drake while he was here. 
        He pushed that from his mind and focused on the city.  It was massive.  The sheer size of it awed him, and he couldn’t help but think of all the years it must have taken to grow into the mecca that it was.  He thought of all the different people living in the city; people from all walks of life, pursuing all manner of dreams.  This was not Briarden, where he was well known and well regarded by everyone, even for the shallowest talents he possessed.  Here, there were at least a hundred men just like him; all with the same talents, hopes and dreams.  They had been here for years, working hard toward what they wanted.  He thought of Drake again.  Faced with the enormity of this place, he could not deny his former friend’s blunt honesty: he had fallen far behind.
        But Tarsus felt something else too: a sense of home.  He didn’t understand why, but as vast as the city was he still felt a certain peace.  He felt as though he belonged here, even if he’d never been here before; and, he thought, may never return here again.

            In the very heart of Malthanon, swarms of people jostled and pushed past Tarsus, Cecily and Finnian without a word or glance.  It did not matter to Tarsus, though.  In fact, he didn’t even notice.  He was standing before the entrance to the largest seat of power on the western shore of Arden, and his eyes were affixed upward at the white-gold tower of the GodKing.  On either side of him, his friends stood with jaws equally slacked.

            “My neck is starting to hurt,” Finnian finally said, lowering his head.  “I’m off to see about rooms.  I think a warm bed is quite deserved after sleeping on the cold, hard earth for a week.”
            “Taverns are just down the main road,” Cecily told him.  “Most of them try and take advantage of visitors, only here to see the temple of Malthus.  Be sure you go to the White Light Tavern.  I know the owners there.  Tell them you’re one of my men.  They’ll give you a good price.”

            “One of your men,” Finnian said with a very strong air of sarcasm.  “Alright.  Though, speaking of price, will you be paying for our rooms?  Or meals?  Or…anything?”

            Tarsus swiveled his head forward and back up to look at the spire.  Across his face spread a smile wide enough for a tankard to fall into, had he opened his mouth and a tankard appeared out of thin air.

            “First of all, I expected us to share a room while traveling together.  Second of all, and third of all…no,” Cecily said.  She locked eyes with Finnian, daring him to pursue the matter further.

            “It’s just that…”

            And he was!  Tarsus couldn’t believe that Finnian kept talking.

            “Well…” Finnian shuffled.  “This whole quest is, um...for you.”

            “This quest is for the GodKing,” Cecily said sharply.  “Lord of this realm and creator of our forbears.  I think he deserves at least a little of your coin.”

            There was a moment of silence.  Out of the corner of his eye, Tarsus saw Finnian’s head dip.  That, he hoped, would be the end of this very uncomfortable conversation.

            “It’s just that…”

            And yet!

            “I don’t have much coin, you understand,” Finnian defended.  “So, if this quest is going to take more than ‘a little’ of it…I’m just not sure I can afford it, is what I’m trying to say.”

            “Are you getting married?” Cecily asked like a lion, leaping onto an unsuspecting gazelle.

            “No,” Finnian replied bewildered.

            “Have any children on the way?”

            “Ha!” Finnian laughed in that concerned way he would when he was reminded of something he’d rather not think about.  “I…doubt it?”

            “Are your parents ailing?” Cecily jabbed again.

            “No.  They’re both fine, Malthus be praised,” Finnian whipped a hand to his mouth.  He looked back at Cecily with guilty eyes.

            “Malthus be praised indeed,” she glowered back.  “Anything else to say?”

            “You’re such a delight to travel with, did you know that?” Finnian jeered as he waved a hand out behind him.  “Don’t you think so men?  Come on, three cheers for our captain, eh?”

            Finnian turned on his heels to look back at crowds of people just walking past.  Not one of them had stopped to acknowledge the young warrior’s strange behavior.

            “Oh, that’s right,” Finnian derided as he turned back to Cecily.  “No men.”

            She turned away in disgust and stormed off; pushing herself through the crowds and making straight for the temple entrance.

            Tarsus lowered his head and turned to his friend.  “Why do you always have to push her?”

            “That’s not fair,” Finnian cried.  “She pushes me first.  Besides, I’m only saying what needs to be said.  She could stand to be friendlier: to everyone.  It’s a long way from here to…wherever we’re going.”

            “We promised to go with her to the very end,” Tarsus said.

            “You promised,” Finnian clarified.  “I’m on this quest for one reason.”

            “Godhood?” Tarsus scoffed.  “You believe we’ll find Malthus’s sword and you’ll take his place?”

            “Don’t be stupid,” Finnian recoiled.  “I don’t believe there is a sword.  In fact, I don’t believe Malthus is dying at all.  The whole thing is ridiculous.  Though not as ridiculous as me becoming a god.”

            “I didn’t mean it that way,” Tarsus tried to clarify.

            “Yes you did,” Finnian interrupted.  He turned obstinately to look at the tower.  “Our first reaction is always the most honest one.”

            Tarsus was ashamed.  He had not meant to be careless.  He searched for something to say.  “Why don’t you believe Malthus is dying?  It’s not as though we heard it from a doomsayer or one of the would-be prophets that come through Briarden selling indulgences.  A god told us this.”

            “Gods lie too,” Finnian said simply, keeping his eyes on the castle spire.  “They’re no better than we are.”

            No one said anything.  Tarsus could only turn to the spire himself, and stew in the uncomfortable silence that his insult had caused.

            After a time, Tarsus felt his friend turn from his side and walk off.  He turned himself, spotting Finnian before the small man could disappear into the crowd.

            “Finnian!”

            Finnian turned back.  “What?”

            “Don’t take up the whole bed,” Tarsus smiled awkwardly.

            “I make no promises,” Finnian said with a grim expression. 

            The smaller man turned then, to head into the crowd.  Before his back was to Tarsus, the sunsword spotted a smile break out on the face of Finnian Pell. 

            That was something Tarsus always appreciated about his friend.  No argument or embarrassment went on too long before Finnian found a way to laugh about it.