I skipped the bath, partly because I didn’t care for the old gremlin’s attitude (Gandalf my ass), and partly because I was exhausted. I’d acquired a rudimentary horsemanship affinity in crossing over to the Realm. Some residents of this world just had a natural ability, apparently. But I’d had little opportunity to hone the skill.

Paupers didn’t have access to horses, after all.

So the ride here had been exhausting, and while my meager affinity prevented chafing or similar discomforts, a sore back and weary bones were apparently fair game.

I slept soundly, and if I dreamt at all, I remembered nothing upon waking. I did not, regrettably, wake of my own accord. Instead, a soft, persistent knock roused me. The source of that knock, a baby-faced elf called Temarketh, said that the abbot awaited me.

I told Temarketh that I hadn’t yet eaten or bathed. “I’ll talk to the abbot, but only after breakfast.”

The kid seemed unhappy, but he didn’t argue. First, I took an ice cold bath in freshly pumped well water – the austere monks apparently reserved heated water only for the sick, and Temarketh would not budge no matter how I protested.

Then, we headed to the dining hall. Today, we dined nearly alone. Some of the faithful monks had already breakfasted, and others remained at work clearing debris and assessing damage.

Breakfast proved as satisfactory as dinner the night before. I downed a plate full of eggs and sausage, with crumpets and jam on the side. Then, feeling fatter and fuller than I had in many a long day, I followed the elf to Tiberius’s office.

He opened the door to let me in, but did not enter himself. I understood why as I ducked into the room.

It was already overcrowded. Tiberius and Jack congregated by the desk, and a whole slew of clergy squeezed in any and everywhere else, their eager eyes fixed on me.

I hesitated on the step. I didn’t consider myself a coward, but I’d grown up Catholic. A voice in the back of my brain piped up cautioning me. Maybe it was the ancient lizard brain signaling danger. Maybe something more recent. Call it the altar boy brain.

Either way, an instinct warned me against stepping into a room full of hungry-eyed priests.

“Ah,” Tiberius said, sounding almost friendly this time. “There he is. The man himself.”

I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see that someone else had been admitted. But the door hadn’t opened. I was alone on the stoop. “Me?”

Someone laughed, but not a jeering laugh. They seemed to think I was making a joke. Tiberius beckoned me over. “You mustn’t be so modest, Kaej. Come. I promised you answers about what must be done, and now is the time for them.”

Cautiously, half afraid some hidden trap door might spring open under my feet, I headed into the room. The priests parted, and I saw now two gleaming golden artifacts on the table: the scepter and the blade.

“We have discussed the situation,” Preach went on. “Now that the enemy knows the relics are here, they are not safe.”

An obvious conclusion, maybe, but logical enough. So far so good. I started to relax.

“When Benedict does not return, they will send others. Probably not a lone agent. Not again. We are but a humble abbey. We cannot withstand armies.”

Again, reasonable if a little obvious.

“We must act first.”

“Act…how?”

“What do you know about the line of succession, Kaej?”

I’d reached them now, Tiberius and Jack, by the desk. “Uh…not much. I mean, there’s been a lot of kings…queens too, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Ten thousand years of kings and queens. Ten thousand unbroken years.”

“That’s a lot of years,” I said awkwardly. I didn’t know what exactly he expected me to say.

“Quite so. And in those years, the king – or queen – has been the sole, the great defender of the Realm.”

I rather doubted that. I’d seen the casualty reports in the daily papers. There’d been quite a few names listed there, and none of them members of the royal family. Sure, Chucky boy had been out at the front fighting. But Leopold had been king then. And he’d been quite content in his palace and castles, far from the fighting. Far from the death.

Letting the peasants drop by the thousands.

“Now, we are without a king.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess we’ll just have to rely on all the armies. We do have quite a few of them, I understand.”

Preach’s eye quivered, but his tone remained neutral. “If only it were that simple.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Isn’t it?”

“Only a warrior of the royal blood can defeat the Sorcerer. It is as it has always been, as the ancient prophecies foretold.”

“Prophecy. Right.” I cleared my throat, trying to be diplomatic. In all my efforts to level, I’d focused on things that mattered – stealth, obviously, and endurance, speed, defense. But charisma? Well, it had never been a strong suit. Not on Earth, not here, and I hadn’t given it much thought until recently.

One of these days, I’d have to do something about that.

In the meantime, I plastered on the most charming smile I could manage and tried to diffuse with humor. My go-to in awkward situations. “Well, unless you’ve got a spare prince hidden away somewhere, I think we’re going to need to come up with a plan b.”

It didn’t work. Preach glowered. Someone clutched their prayer beads. Not quite pearls, but close enough. Even Jack stared at me with wide eyes, as if I’d gone just a little too far.

I cleared my throat. “What I mean is, we can’t work with what we don’t have.”

“You are more correct than you know,” Preach said. “We cannot work with what we do not have.”

A murmur of assent rose from the assembled clergy, as if this rather banal statement was somehow profound.

“Which is where you come in,” Preach finished.

“Me? I mean, I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m the prince type.”

Preach didn’t think that was funny either. He frowned so deeply his eyebrows nearly met over his nose. The man had no sense of humor.

“Uh, what were you thinking?”

“We do not need a prince, we need a king. And not just any king, but the king.”

“And…what king would that be?”

“King Charles VIII, blessed of the moons, divine leader of army and church and nation, slayer of the unrighteous.”

“Uh…look, I’m not trying to be a jerk here, or piss on your parade or whatever. But you do know that he’s dead, right? Like, kaput? Gone? Finito?”

“As life is temporary, so too can death be temporary, in the right circumstances,” one of the priests said.

Preach puffed out his chest and interlaced his fingers in front of him. “It is our business to arrange those circumstances.”

“Like…necromancy?”

I wasn’t joking that time, but Preach seemed to think I was. His face looked stonier than ever, and he said, “There is a time and a place for your humor, young man.”

“I’m not being funny.”

“There, I will agree.”

“What I mean is, I’m not trying to be funny. Just – look, maybe I’m stupid –”

“Again, we can agree.”

“But how the hell do you bring a dude back from the dead? I mean, without necromancy.”

“There is only one way, and it is not without difficulty.”

Which still wasn’t an answer. I bit down on the urge to interrupt, and waited.

For several long seconds, he said nothing. Then, more portentously than ever, he spoke again. “What you are about to hear, Kaej, very few have ever heard – and even fewer laypeople. It is one of the most sacred and secret mysteries of life and death. The power to unwind time, to unclasp the icy fingers of Death himself.”

Despite myself, I felt a frisson of excitement at this. It was probably all priestly quackery, of course. But…what if?

“It requires a good deal of discretion. The ability to creep about unseen, to get into places where one is not welcome.”

“You mean, someone with high stealth stats?”

“Exactly so.”

Instead of asking, “then why the hell not just say so?” I waited patiently. My diplomacy skills weren’t going to build themselves, after all.

“We here are men of many different talents. Master gardeners and weavers and brewers.”

“Butcher, baker, and candlestick maker,” I put in.

“And scholars besides. Even warriors. But we are not sneaks, not us. You on the other hand – you are a man of, let us say, colorful interests and skills.”

I grinned at the distaste in his tone.

“Aside from the evidence of our own eyes – you surviving the cathedral – we have Squire Alf’s word for how stealthy you can be.”

“Level 99, baby.”

His eye twitched, but somebody else asked, “Ninety-nine? Surely, you exaggerate. I have never heard of anyone reaching level 99 in any skill.”

“Well,” I said, latching thumbs in my belt and puffing up my chest, “now you have.”

“You are indeed the most qualified for this task,” Tiberius said. “Not only among us at the abbey, but perhaps in all of the realm.”

I couldn’t help but appreciate the grudging respect in his tone. I tried to sound modest as I said, “Well, if I can put my little skills to use, I will. Tell me what to do, Preach.”

“The object is simple. You must enter the realm of the dead – do not concern yourself with the details. That is where our skills come into their own. We have already arranged passage.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t like how they’d taken my agreement for granted, but I was glad they’d handled it all the same. I might be a hell of a sneak, but I was a shit magician.

“Once there, you must locate King Charles, and you must escort him to the sacred chamber of passage.”

Everything, I noticed, was sacred with these people. “That’s where I enter?”

“No. There are many entrances into the realm of the dead,” he said. “But only one out.”

“Oh.”

“It sits at the heart of the realm.”

“Are there guards?”

“Some.”

I didn’t like the ambiguity. “How many is some?”

Tiberius frowned at me. “I’m afraid the sacred scrolls did not give a headcount. All I know is that they are there. But if you do your job well, it will not matter if it is one or a hundred and one. Your goal is not to engage the guards, but to avoid them.

“Now, as I was saying: you must lead the king to this portal. You will find it locked. Use the Sacred Key of Destiny to unlock it.”

“The what now?”

He pulled a golden key out of his pocket, saying again, “The Sacred Key of Destiny. It will allow you to carry your belongings with you when you cross realms, and it will unlock the portal on the way back. So that you and he may step through and return to us.”

“Okay,” I said. “I guess that sounds easy enough.” And it did, provided this other realm actually existed, and the priests could get me there.

Tiberius pressed the key into my hand. “Take this. And take this. You may need it.” He lifted the scepter from the desk, and thrust it too into my hands. “And finally, take this. The king will need it.” He handed over the golden blade.

Awkwardly, I slipped the key into my bag in order to make room for the sword. It was the first time I’d held both scepter and blade, and it felt – odd, somehow.

Like being surrounded by a faint bubble of energy.

“Ha,” I said.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just thought you weren’t supposed to do this.”

“What?”

“Carry both the scepter and blade at once, unless you’re king.” I remembered Jack’s claim that it carried a death penalty.

He must have remembered it too, because he said, “I should not trouble about it, sir. Not in this situation.”

“Are you ready?” Tiberius asked.

“Sure, I guess. So, how do we open a portal?”

“A portal? Oh, to the Realm of the Dead.”

I nodded.

Tiberius shrugged. “That is quite simple. First, turn to the window by Squire Alf. That’s it.”

I turned to the window he indicated, scepter in one hand and blade in the other, grinning ear to ear at the prospect of having not just one but two of these beauties in my possession.

So wrapped up as I was, I only just caught the flash of motion – and so only caught a glimpse of the dagger in Jack’s hand.

I felt it though. Cold and cutting, as it broke the skin of my throat.

“Forgive me, Kaej,” he said.