“Yeah, I could have handled that better,” DJ said.

Riley shook her head. “I don’t think it would have made a difference.”

Up in the clock tower, both of them let their legs dangle over the catwalk as they faced the sea. DJ lay on his back, his head in his hands as he stared up at the clock hands. Riley picked out hardened crumbs of dough stuck under her fingernails.

“What did your dad say?” Riley asked.

DJ shrugged. “He was hesitant, but eventually agreed to it. He told me I’ll need at least two people in my party: a healer and a strongarm. The healer should know restoration magic, not just medicine, so they can throw a healing spell in a pinch. And the strongarm should be someone who’s seen a lot of combat. Scary. Intimidating. And it’s best if they have a lot of travel experience, too.”

Riley flicked away some dough crumbs. “I’m so mad that I can’t go with you. Dad lectured me for an hour when we got home from the bakery that day.” She put her fists on her hips and mocked his voice. “‘It’s not safe for a girl out there! You want to be kidnapped and sold to a whorehouse? Stop with this ranger funny business, we need you here!’” She blew a raspberry. “With my six brothers to help? Yeah, right.”

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” DJ said. “The journey to the Temple of the Amulet could take months. I’ll send you ravenpost at every town we visit.”

“You better.” Riley looked at him with eyes full of envy and admiration, then went back to her nails. “So have you found a healer and a strongarm?”

DJ laid back down. “About that…”

He went on to recount the conversation he had days ago that led to his second monastery visit. Sir Dashing told him that every Steward of Uh is trained in restoration magic, and some of them have travel experience from transferring to different monasteries. When DJ asked Father Tuckett about any potential volunteers, the answer flew off his lips.

“Friar Steve!” the priest blurted. “Yes, I’m sure Friar Steve would love to accompany you on your journey!”

They stood together in the mess hall. When the Stewards overheard the prospect of Steve’s departure for an extended period, their faces brimmed with anticipation. Steve himself was sitting at a table, spearing potatoes with a fork when he heard his name across the room.

DJ tried not to grimace and lowered his voice. “Steve? Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Father Tuckett nodded enthusiastically. “Steve is a wonderful Steward. And this may be his opportunity to finally prove himself worthy of becoming a priest! A journey across Uh with a young knight? Marvelous! He’s a competent cook, understands medicine… I’m sure he’ll be a wonderful addition to your party! You should take him along.” Father Tuckett leaned in and whispered. “Please take him along.”

DJ didn’t look at Steve—he didn’t want the loud friar to see the displeasure riddled across his face. But the prospect of spending every day with a loud and clumsy friar sounded like a trial in and of itself.

“You’re sure there’s no one else?” DJ asked.

Father Tuckett shook his head. “Everyone else is busy. It has to be him. Yep.”

DJ scratched his neck and imagined what traveling with Steve would look like. All the yelling would probably give him headaches. Maybe he could wait until another Steward was available. But when might that be? Weeks, months? It wasn’t possible if he wanted to go to the Temple and back before winter. It had to be Steve. He let out a defeated sigh. “Well, alright. Guess I better go talk to him.”

He approached Steve’s table. He sat down across from the friar and laced his hands together. Steve stared back at him with big eyes, a potato skin dangling from his lips.

“Hey, Friar Steve. You remember me, right?”

A loud gulp and suddenly Steve’s foghorn was available. “Of course I do! Young knight! The honor is mine once again!”

“Do you know any healing spells?” DJ asked. “I’m looking to go on a quest across the territory to the Temple of the Amulet, and I’ll need a healer to come along. Father Tuckett said—”

“I know many healing spells!” Steve yipped excitedly. “I once healed Friar Tomlin’s broken leg when I bumped him off the roof! I’m well versed in healing techniques, both novice and intermediate!”

“Nothing advanced, though?”

“I continue to learn!”

DJ thought and nodded. “Okay, so—”

“Observe!”

Steve slapped his hand on the table, and with a mighty thud, planted his fork through it like a flag. He let out a howl that was loud even for his standards. Everybody turned and gasped. DJ watched with wide eyes and dangling jaw. Steve yanked the fork from his flesh, and blood blossomed around the puncture.

Goddess Almighty! DJ swore without speaking.

Steve slapped his other hand over the wound, closed his eyes, and muttered a phrase in a language DJ didn’t recognize. The palm of his healing hand glowed white. And after about twenty seconds, he lifted it.

The puncture was completely restored, good as new.

Lastly, he wiped his bloody fork on his robe and went back to his potatoes, all while wearing a satisfied grin.

When DJ told Riley the story, she burst out laughing. “Wow,” she said when she finally settled down. “He definitely sounds like a few bricks short of a payload, but a healer is a healer, right?”

“Yeah. Now I just need to find some muscle to make sure I don’t get killed.”

“Good luck. A goblin will probably eat you before you reach the Aeldar Forest.”

They smirked at each other. DJ threw a punch at her shoulder, but Riley twisted out of it and laughed at him.

They stayed at the clock tower until it got dark. Word got around Beregond that DJ was looking for a party to quest with, and that led to a broad assortment of sellswords trying for a bite of Sir Dashing’s wealth. For the next two weeks, DJ experienced a carousel of mangy, bloodthirsty adventurers visiting his home to interview for the position.

That also led to the gossip. None of it was said to DJ’s face, of course. But DJ would hear it when he would pass people in the streets—commoners taking bets on how long he would live or if someone would capture him and hold him ransom. DJ kept silent and swore that he would make them eat their words. Eventually.

And the sellswords kept coming. Sir Dashing made it a point to in on each interview. He pushed DJ to lead most of the time, but Sir Dashing also found it difficult to stop from asking the real questions only a true adventurer would know.

Many candidates were highly qualified, but Sir Dashing reminded DJ that he needed to quest with someone he genuinely liked. Joint goals are the bread of a party, but camaraderie is the butter. If he was going to be on the road for several months with someone, he had to like them. And so far, not a single candidate had qualities DJ liked—all of them were either too cocky, brash, stupid, or slippery.

That was until a knock came to the door during supper one evening. The sound was strong, but measured. DJ and Sir Dashing exchanged looks, then Sir Dashing got up and answered it. DJ couldn’t see the visitor, but he did notice Sir Dashing’s face turn way up—so whoever it was, they were very tall.

“Hello,” Sir Dashing said. “Here for the strongarm position?”

“Indeed, I am,” a deep voice came. “I understand that it’s late, though. I can visit another time if it’s more convenient for you.”

DJ perked up at the notion. If it’s more convenient? This strongarm sounded strangely courteous for a hardened adventurer.

Sir Dashing gave DJ a look as if to say what-do-you-think. DJ shrugged as if to say why-not-it’ll-only-take-a-few-minutes. So, Sir Dashing invited the applicant inside.

The applicant was a seven-foot orc with dark green skin, wide shoulders, a thick girth, prominent tusks, and a considerable stack of books under his arm. He was dressed mostly in furs, and he lugged a thick battle ax over his shoulder. He set down the ax gently down by the doorframe, as if he was worried of scratching the floor.

Sir Dashing extended his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name.”

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“Francis,” the orc extended his hand and shook. “Thank you for letting me in your home on such short notice.”

“Francis. Strange name for an orc.” Sir Dashing studied him up and down. “What clan are you from?”

“I have no clan.”

Sir Dashing blinked. “Every orc has a clan.”

“Not this one, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” Sir Dashing said. “Please, sit down. This is my son, DJ.”

“Of course,” Francis extended his hand and DJ shook it. The hand was massive, but surprisingly soft. “Congratulations on your recent knighting. I heard it was quite the celebration.”

Sir Dashing tilted his head. “Heard? You didn’t attend?”

Suddenly, the orc was embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “I prefer to stay home and read most days. Loud parties aren’t my preferred pastime. I hope you’ll forgive me, young knight.”

“It’s okay,” DJ shrugged and meant it.

Francis pulled out a chair and sat down. It groaned under his weight, so he adjusted slightly to ease off the pressure.

“So, Francis the Orc,” Sir Dashing sat down and pushed his plate aside. “Tell us of your travels and battles. A lot of broken bones and shattered shields behind you?”

Francis nodded subtly. "I have more than sufficient experience traveling. I’m from the Nether Regions, as most orcs are. My sojourn to Beregond took me through much of The Cradle and Westfall. As for battles…” He gestured to himself. “It’s well-known that orcs come from long lines of brawlers that pass down their love of war. I’ve seen my share of combat.”

Sir Dashing stroked his chin and nodded. He was about to ask another question before he caught himself. He turned to DJ. “Son, what questions do you have?”

DJ pointed. “Have you read all those books?”

Francis smiled and stroked the top book as if it were a pet. “These? Oh no, not yet. I acquired these from a merchant and I intend to bring them to the shop. I help manage Klepper’s Keep—the bookshop down on the lower district. These will be added to our inventory.”

“An orc that runs a bookshop?” DJ said. He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Brawn and brains, young knight.” Francis winked.

DJ beamed.

“Francis,” Sir Dashing continued, “what about—”

“You’re hired,” DJ interrupted.

“Now hold on, DJ,” Sir Dashing said, “we haven’t even discussed price—”

“I’ll do it for a thousand gold,” Francis said.

Both Dashings went silent. That price was tiny compared to the offers they heard from other sellswords. They both shared a look of confusion, then Sir Dashing narrowed his eyes and examined the orc.

“Only one thousand?” he asked. “Why?”

“From what I understand,” Francis said, “your quest is a pilgrimage to the Temple of the Amulet, correct?”

DJ nodded.

“There is a library on the way there,” Francis continued. “The Library of Artak. It’s nestled on the eastern side of the Camās Gahl Mountains. I’ve wanted to visit that library since I was a boy, but never made the journey. If you promise that we stop at the Library of Artak along the way to our destination, I’ll lend my services for the entirety of the journey. You have my word.”

DJ beamed again. This orc was willing to guard across the territory in exchange for a sack of gold and a library visit. DJ had never been terribly religious, but in this moment he felt like blessing the Goddess’s name. Francis was perfect. The party was coming together.

Sir Dashing folded his arms and leaned back. “Well, DJ, do you have any further questions?”

DJ shook his head, still enamored with his latest find.

“Then it appears my son has already made his decision.” Sir Dashing extended his hand. “Francis, thank you for visiting us this night. I know my son will be in good hands.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Francis said. “Thank you for this opportunity, young knight. I swear to protect and guide you. The Library of Artak has been a great dream of mine, so I’ll forever be grateful for this journey.”

DJ stood up. “Okay! Yeah! Thanks!”

Francis bowed, then saw himself out the door, remembering to take his battle ax with him. Sir Dashing and DJ returned to their supper, and DJ couldn’t keep the grin of his face. He had a healer and a strongarm—his party was complete. But another question grew in DJ’s mind, which caused his smile to falter.

“Dad,” he said, “we did just meet that orc. How do we know we can trust him?”

Sir Dashing gave a sly grin. “You can always trust someone who runs a bookshop.”

*

The day had come.

DJ tightened his knightly sword around his waist and counted the items in his pack one more time: a week’s rations, a bedroll, some rope, a fire sparker, a mess kit, a canteen, and a generous sack of gold. He was also garbed in top-of-the-line adventure wear. DJ swore it would be fine to buy secondhand goods at the general store but Sir Dashing insisted on custom fitted gear that would last him the journey. DJ felt incredibly self conscious as the tailor measured his every angle. He tried not to blush as shoppers watched him and pointed.

Friar Steve stood beside him, his thumbs in his pack straps and gazing all around the Beregond while he had the chance. Then his uneven eyes fell on the looming eastern gates and he stopped. He took a deep breath and let it out.

DJ noticed this. “Been a while since you’ve been outside the city?”

“Oh yes!” Steve replied. “Many years! I was but a boy!”

“Excited?”

“Indeed! Perhaps this pilgrimage shall finally earn me the rank of priest! If it does, I shall thank the Goddess until my dying day!”

“I hope it works out for you, Steve.” DJ shielded his eyes and measured the time by the sun’s position. “Francis should be here soon. When he shows up, we’ll be ready.” He paused. “Dad, you doing okay?”

Sir Dashing had been standing with shifting feet and clasped hands, glancing all around. Passing people hailed him and wished him a good day, but he returned their enthusiasm with distraction.

“Me? Oh yes, fine, fine.” He cleared his throat. “You know, DJ, there is still time to reconsider. You don’t have to go. No one is forcing you.”

“Dad, I need to do this for me,” DJ approached Sir Dashing and lowered his voice. “I’ll miss you too, but I have to do this. What about you? You were twelve when you had your first quest.”

“That’s different,” Sir Dashing mumbled.

“I’ll be fine,” DJ assured. “I’ll have Francis and Steve to look after me. We’ll stay out of trouble and I’ll send you ravenpost along the way.”

“The great Goddess above will grant us safety on this pilgrimage!” Steve was suddenly beside DJ. “Her Amulet awaits us!”

“Thank you, Friar Steve,” Sir Dashing said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment with my son.” Steve stepped back a few paces. Sir Dashing put his arm around DJ in a way that felt private. The following words were delicate and slow. “Just so you know, your mother still lives in Varis. It’s the capitol of the Cradle—a beautiful lakeside city at the edge of the Lyleth Forest. I’m sure you’d be able to find her there, she’s very well-known.”

DJ pushed off his father’s arm. “Not interested.”

“Perhaps it would be good for you two to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sir Dashing didn’t reply.

A short moment later, Francis arrived. His own adventure pack was slung over his shoulder, along with his battle ax. Steve’s eyes grew to dinner plates as he saw the massive orc. Francis was over a foot taller than him, but he gave the friar a warm smile.

“You must be Steven,” Francis said as he extended his hand. “I’m Francis. I suppose we’ll be traveling together for the next several months. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Steve didn’t say anything. He just stared with childlike wonder. Francis retracted his hand and suppressed a small chuckle.

“This looks like all of us,” DJ sighed.

He let his eyes trace the stone buildings of Beregond one last time. People moved all about, carrying on in their usual activities. None of them seemed to notice or care that Beregond’s newest knight was leaving on his first quest. DJ wondered why he expected anything different.

The last thing he noticed was the clock tower. From this angle, he couldn’t see the westward clock face. His heart lurched. How many months would he be without Riley? The only one who cared he existed besides his own father? The thought caused a lump to gather in his throat. They had gotten their final hugs the night before because she had to work at the bakery during DJ’s departure.

“Be safe, okay?” she sniffled into his ear. “Send ravenpost everywhere you go.”

“I will,” DJ replied, holding her tightly. “And when I come home, I’ll be a tried and tested knight. It’ll be like I never left. You’ll see.”

DJ tore his gaze away from the clock tower and tried to swallow the lump away.

Sir Dashing let out a deep breath. “Well, this is it!” With a large step, he scooped DJ into a bear hug so tight DJ thought he could break. But Sir Dashing caught himself. He released DJ, extended his hand, and shook it firmly. “I wish you triumph and success on your journey, fellow knight,” he said with an official tone.

DJ half-smiled. “Thanks, dad. I’ll send ravenpost once we reach Daenan.” A pause as he turned to his new companions. “No time like the present, right? Let’s go.”

The three of them hiked up their packs and made for the gate. They didn’t make it five steps before DJ heard a familiar voice behind him.

“DJ! Wait!”

He turned around to see Riley sprinting with a wide, toothy grin stretched between her ears. She wore traveling boots with a pack slung behind her, barreling toward DJ at top speed. DJ’s heart lit up and Riley jumped into his arms. When they stopped hugging, Riley brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“Riley!” DJ said. “I thought you were working tod—”

“My dad changed his mind!” she said excitedly. “He said I can go! ‘Just be careful and stay close to the bookshop orc.’ I’m going to become a ranger!”

DJ couldn’t have smiled brighter. “You’re serious?”

Riley nodded.

“Alright then!” DJ said. “One and all, to the Temple of the Amulet!”

Before them, the gates opened, and they left the city of Beregond behind. DJ looked over his shoulder. Just before the gates closed, he saw Sir Dashing smiling and waving. But his smile betrayed his eyes, which were unmistakably sad.