A Fool’s Quest

Cold, damp drafts streamed through the cracks of the uninsulated walls and the leaky gates of the dungeon.

A musty smell hung in the air, and only the dull echo of the guards’ footsteps resounded through the corridors.

At least, that was how it usually was.

But this morning, unusual noises came from one of the cells, making the guards prick up their ears.

Singing.

If one could call it that…

Marcus had made it his mission to lift their spirits with loud, monotonous chanting, while Gus chimed in at every cue with the same deadpan drawl.

“One hundred eighty-three bottles of beer in the jail, one hundred eighty-three bottles of beer…”

Gus bellowed on cue: “Take one down, pass it around…”

“…one hundred eighty-two bottles of beer… in the jail…”

One of the guards groaned and clamped his hands over his pointed ears.

Another finally snapped: “By the gods, make them stop!”

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then Marcus started again, softer this time, yet still loud enough to drive the guards insane.

One of them banged his helmet against his own spear in sheer desperation.

At last a door slammed open, and footsteps descended into the dungeon until they stopped before the cell. 

Their singing died at once as four fresh guards entered and bound them.

“You are to be brought before the king. You speak only when spoken to, and you will show respect! Any misconduct will earn you ten lashes, remember that!”

The two swallowed and offered no retort.

As they were led out of the dungeon, one guard muttered in exhaustion:

“Finally… it’s over…”

Another gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

The iron gates creaked open, and cold daylight blinded Marcus and Gus as they stumbled outside.

With wrists bound and guards at their flanks, they climbed a long stairway and passed beneath twin archways into the heart of the city.

For the first time, they truly saw Haltharan in all its glory.

Countless towers rose among ancient trees whose massive roots coiled around entire streets.

Bridges and walkways of intertwined roots spanned narrow canals, while bright cloths and lanterns swayed from tall masts.

Elves in flowing robes paused, casting frosty glances at the prisoners and whispering behind their hands as they passed.

“...they don’t seem too fond of us,” Marcus muttered, trying to walk as upright as possible.

“Strange, considering what charming fellows we are,” Gus grumbled with dry sarcasm.

At last they reached the broad steps of the palace.

Here everything was even grander: golden gates, vast stained-glass windows, statues of elven heroes gleaming flawlessly in the sun.

Inside, their footsteps echoed across marble tiles. High vaulted ceilings arched above them, where blue-glimmering crystals shed their light like cold stars.

And then, they stood in the throne room.

It was vast and magnificent, lined with tall pillars, and at the far end stood a broad throne of white stone, gilded with gold.

Upon it sat the Elven King: stern, dignified, a crown of silver upon his brow.

To his right, veiled only by a thin curtain, sat the princess.

Her golden hair and violet eyes shimmered in the light, and Marcus’ heart immediately kicked into overdrive as he recognized her.

“It’s her! The bathing beauty, the woman of my dreams!” he hissed excitedly, only for Gus to stomp on his foot at once.

“Shut it! You’ll get us whipped!”

But before their turn came, a farmer was admitted.

The man bowed deeply, his shirt little more than rags.

“Your Majesty… my fields in the south have been burned by marauding orcs. Our harvest won’t last the winter, and without proper protection we cannot sow again...”

The king furrowed his brow, listening carefully to the man’s long plea. Then he spoke in a calm, grave voice:

“You shall be supplied from the royal stores. In addition, the garrison in your lands will be reinforced, so far as we can spare the troops.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” The farmer bowed once more before he was escorted out.

Then it was their turn.

A herald struck the floor three times with his staff.

“Now step forward: two human intruders, seized beyond the King’s Road!”

A murmur rippled through the hall, the gathered nobility whispering audibly.

“Humans? Here!? Outrageous!”

Marcus and Gus were shoved forward until they knelt before the throne.

At the edge of the hall Gus spotted Caeriel, arms crossed, her expression stern but not hostile.

Beside her stood Captain Jathiran, chin raised, lips curled in a self-satisfied smile as he regarded the two with open contempt.

The king leaned forward, eyes intent.

“Humans?” He studied them from head to toe, as though trying to recall the features of their race.

“Tell me, why are you here? I thought your kind had left this continent long ago. Most here believe you are in league with the Demon King. Only Lady Caeriel seems to think otherwise.”

When Gus and Marcus glanced her way, she lowered her eyes. 

She tried to look severe, but her unease was plain, as though she disliked being mentioned at all.

“Your Majesty…” Gus began, “…we are neither allied with the Demon King, nor do we have anything to do with the humans beyond the sea. We are...”

But before he could finish, Marcus cut him off.

“…We have come to defeat the Demon King!”

A murmur rolled through the hall, and Gus slowly turned his head toward his friend, eyes wide with disbelief, voice a strained whisper:

“…Dude, have you lost your damn mind, what the hell are you saying!?”

All the while, Marcus hadn’t managed to tear his gaze from the princess, who until now had shown little interest in him or the proceedings.

Something inside him compelled him to hold her attention.

And now, he had it.

Her violet eyes were wide, caught between fascination and the shameful memory of the lake.

Marcus felt the urge to push even further.

He adjusted his hat, struck a theatrical pose that looked anything but heroic with his hands bound, and declared in a loud voice:

“We are mighty heroes, sent from another world to vanquish evil once and for all, and to free this land from darkness! Marcus the Magus and Gus the Guzzler, at your service, Your Majesty!”

The princess’ eyes now sparkled, her cheeks flushed crimson. 

Caeriel clapped her hands over her face, while the king regarded the two humans with a stern gaze.

At the edge of the hall, Captain Jathiran’s lips curled ever so slightly into a cold, superior grin.

For a long moment, silence filled the throne room. 

The elves’ stares bore into Marcus and Gus, while the murmuring swelled like a storm.

Then the king rose, his voice deep and commanding:

“Heroes from another world, you say? Words are cheap. Yet the timing of your appearance is… interesting.”

Captain Jathiran stepped forward, bowing with that same cold grin.

“Your Majesty, if I may. In the borderlands the orcs are gathering, led by a new general of the Demon King. Our scouts report burned villages, slaughtered families. If these two are truly mighty heroes… then let them prove it.”

Another murmur swept the hall, some nodding in agreement, others muttering in doubt.

“An excellent suggestion,” the king said, his eyes returning to Marcus and Gus.

“If you are truly sent to vanquish evil, then bring me the head of this general. Do so, and I will grant you a reward, whatever you desire.”

Marcus’ heart leapt and his gaze shot straight to the princess, while a dreamy smile spread across his face.

“MARCUS!” Gus’ voice cracked like thunder as he grabbed his friend by the sleeve. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!”

But Marcus only adjusted his hat, and gave an awkward bow as far as the ropes allowed.

“Your Majesty, we accept the quest! The Demon King’s general will fall by our hands!”

Another murmur surged through the hall, louder this time. 

Some laughed outright, others whispered in disbelief. 

Gus ground his teeth, but said nothing.

The king raised his hand, and the voices fell silent.

“So be it. You shall be armed, and an escort will lead you to the border of demon territory.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gus caught Caeriel burying her face in her palm.

“The audience is over,” declared the king. “Take them away. Make preparations.”

The hall still buzzed like a storm of voices, but Marcus barely heard it. 

His grin faded, and his gaze sank to the floor as reality finally caught up with him.

“You really are the biggest idiot I know,” Gus muttered through clenched teeth. “You’ve just signed our death sentence, do you get that?”

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“When she looked at me… I just couldn’t help it…”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Gus let out a long sigh.

“Love-struck fool… Somehow we’ll find a way out of this.”

“Hopefully,” Marcus murmured, “because otherwise we’re screwed.”