Qing's Quest book 2, Chapter 11: Jorik's kirathaane

The air roared around Qing’s ears as he soared into the night, pushed by his powerful legs.

“Oh shit!” he said, calling into the night as he stared at the marble floor, so far below it would turn him to paste. He seemed to soar forever, like a steroid-pumped long-distance jumper. Taj screamed, hand scratching at Qing’s face. The tall palace fence passed beneath them, two guards staring up, mouths agape. Several feet still separated them from the water, and the ground rushed towards them. It looked like it would be the end. But the dark waters rose to meet them with a teeth-rattling smash as they splashed in just past the walkway. Qing’s back cracked as he was squeezed between Taj and the water. Then cold water wrapped around him as he tumbled down, pushed by the guard’s weight.

The spears!

Air bubbled from his mouth as he gurgled in pain, twisting, trying to break their descent. Then, Quick Reflexes proc’ed, and he raised his arms, pushing himself down and Taj up, and snaked his body between unseen razor-sharp objects. The wood felt slimy against his body as he stopped, eyes open, yet seeing nothing in the too-dark water that left his eyes stinging.

His lungs were empty, and started burning, but he couldn’t find his strength.

He popped a health potion. Sweet relief flooded through his body and strength returned.

He wrapped a leg around a spear for leverage and pushed Taj towards the surface before kicking off after him. With a gasp, Qing broke into the sweet air.

“Hurry!” Knut said, in a whisper that carried. Morgana splashed further ahead.

Qing kicked off, grateful for the summer trips to lake Michigan, pulling Taj behind him. Water sprayed behind him like a motorboat as he kicked, spears splashing down around them and guards throwing their torches into the water for a chance to spot them. But with Qing’s light dimmed to nothing, they were like ghosts, unable to be seen.

Is Taj still alive?

The man hadn’t moved or spoken since they hit the water.

“Are you alright?” he asked. No reply.

Did the impact break his back?

As he swam, Qing pulled on the energy above his head, hair rising on the back of his neck, and he cast Divine Light on Taj.

The man took a deep breath, before coughing seawater.

“What did you do?”

“Healed you.”

“I…”

Qing continued pulling him.

I hope Smokey is alright in the stable. Surely they won’t mistreat him…right?

The three-humped camel had grown on him on their journey, and he’d grown rather attached.

“Here,” Knut said after a few minutes. “This should be far enough. Can you get us up, Qing?”

“I think so,” he said, but the stones were too slick to climb. So he pushed Taj to Knut, opened his inventory, and equipped the two-handed axe. With a fierce kick, he reached up out of the water and just managed to get the edge hooked. Hand over hand, he climbed up before rolling onto dry land. He lay flat in the darkness and looked around. While the wall was lit, and the palace itself, the space between it and the houses lay dark. The guards were all searching closer to the palace, waving torches and screaming orders and counter-orders. The adage of searching where there’s light, not where you lost the keys came to mind.

Seems the wiser guards all were part of the group we met in the desert. Not a single one here will have any night vision left.

Qing turned and lowered the axe. “Grab on,” he said, and pulled them up, one by one. They hurried over to the nearby houses, keeping low to the ground.

“Anyone in need of healing?” Qing asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Knut said.

Morgana just shushed him as she sprinted past in her underwear.

After rounding the first corner, Qing called a halt and handed over their gear. It was completely dry.

“How is that possible?” Taj asked.

“He’s unique, isn’t he?” Morgana said with a grin as she pulled on her skin-tight leathers, Qing doing his best not to stare. Despite jumping from a tower, a nighttime swim, and a sprint from the royal guard, her eye-patch looked to never have moved.

Geared up, they headed deeper into the city, jogging through empty streets. With the happenings at the palace, nobody wanted to be caught in the crossfire. At first, Qing led the way, heading straight from the palace, but then he slowed, unsure.

“Where to?” Qing asked.

“Head into the city,” Morgana said, slinking along the wall to peek into the next street. “There are a thousand places to hide here. I know of a few.”

Taj started saying something, but Knut interrupted him. “There’s only one place we can go now,” he said. “Jorik’s kiraathane.”

Morgana and Taj shared a glance before nodding.

“Lead the way,” Qing said, and they sped off into the night.

***

Qing followed Knut into Jorik’s kiraathane, which he’d been led to understand was a type of Zylphadian version of a coffee shop. Shadows cloaked the spacious oval room, nearly suffocating the candles that threw flittering lights across the cloth-covered faces of patrons. They nursed short cups close, every eye upon the newcomers.

For a moment, Qing’s unease gave way to curiosity as he inhaled deeply.

Is that tea?

Against the far wall stood a tall bar, behind which sat dozens of bottles in front of a mirror. The guests sat huddled as if the walls of the kiraathane held back night terrors, offering a fragile sanctuary in a world teetering on the brink of chaos. Qing hoped that was so.

“You! How dare you show your face here?”

Qing’s attention snapped to a slender man who rushed towards them, walking as if on stilts. He pointed an accusatory finger at Knut, shaking with intensity. The patrons all shrank deeper into their cups.

“Let me do the talking,” Knut whispered and waved them all behind him. “Just keep quiet.” Then he turned to the man, opened his arms wide, and exclaimed. “Jorik, my good friend! What a pleasure it is to see you after all these years. You haven’t aged a day!”

“What in the sun-bleached skull are you doing back?” Jorik asked.

“I’m here on business,” Knut replied, his head tilted. “Why else would I be back in this godforsaken land?”

“Guards! Jorik called, and two men, who had to have ogre as part of their lineage, rose from a corner table and grabbed cudgels.

“Whoa, my friend! Why the hostility?”

“You are banished!”

“That was over ten years ago.”

“Am I to believe you have been to see the king?” Jorik said, stopping to loom over in a way only a man in a dark purple coat with golden stars on it can.

“Why, of course,” Knut said with the smile of a man who came to bed late yet found his wife waiting up and in a good mood.

Jorik seemed taken aback, and he tilted his head, looking at Knut askance. “And all is forgiven?”

“Do you think he’d let me leave if not?”

“Well…I…”

“See. He even granted us an escort,” Knut said and waved at Taj. The guard wisely kept his mouth shut and did his best imitation of a guard with not a care in the world except for when he’d go home to a lukewarm meal.

“Well, in that case...” Jorik’s demeanor changed and a big smile spread across his face. “Welcome back, my friend! You have been missed.” He enveloped Knut in a bearlike hug, if stick-insects hugged like teddies.

Conversation filled the room as the patrons relaxed, and a collectively held breath was released. The guards returned to their table. Laughter, defying the suffocating atmosphere of the city, followed them through the room as Jorik led them to a nearby table. He gave a perfunctory wipe of the surface before begging them to be seated.

After a quick round of introductions, brief instructions and an exchange of palmed coins, they were settled around the table. Jorik begged his leave to take care of some business, promising to return shortly. A teenage boy brought them steaming mugs of tea.

Back against the wall, Qing kept his eyes on the doorway, knuckles white around the cup, but mindful of not breaking it. He’d destroyed enough kitchenware on the journey already. He took a sip and had to restrain himself from sighing in pleasure at the perfect mouthfeel of the green tea flowed down his throat. It tasted like freshly plucked and steamed green Dragon Well tea. But…

I don’t deserve this.

He pushed the cup away.

Now Rufus knows we are here. The entire kingdom will be after us, and I let Jenny be captured. Damn it!

His head slipped forward, and he knocked it against the table, repeatedly.

How could it have gone any worse?

“How do you know Jorik?” Morgana asked.

“We go way back,” Knut answered. “He used to be the court jester while I was the royal supplier of pills to put the pop back in the slop, if you—”

“We know.”

“He was always helpful in slipping in a bit of pep into the right noble’s drink. Made him popular with the ladies, and the king. Happy wives made happy nobles. Happy nobles made for a happy kingdom.” Knut looked wistfully around the bar. “Seeing what the court has turned into, I am glad he got out in time.”

“So…what do we do next, then?” Morgana asked.

The table settled into silence. When it became unbearable, Qing raised his head.

They all stared at him.

“What?”

“What do we do?” Knut asked.

“I don’t know,” Qing said.

“Don’t you have any…” Knut trailed off, weaving his hand through the air. “…quests or objectives? Things like that?”

“Only the one,” Qing said and sighed.

Where the hell are you, GG? I could really use some guidance right about now.

“Quests and tasks? What are you talking about?” Taj asked.

“It’s a Qing thing,” Morgana said, aerating her tea.

“So you know what we are doing then?” the old man asked.

“Not yet. But Qing will figure something out. He always does,” Morgana said confidently.

Suddenly, Qing felt as if he couldn’t breathe, as if the temperature and air pressure in the room had tripled. “I need air,” he said and stood.

“Don’t go far. They’ll be searching,” Knut said, grabbing his wrist and leaning in.

Qing ripped his hand free. “Don’t you think I know that?” He walked away, guilt clawing at his throat, but he couldn’t handle it. He needed to get away.

He heard a chair scraping across the wooden floor and Knut was suddenly there by his side, walking with an arm around his waist.

“If you need a minute, my friend, then head to the roof.” He pointed to a doorway covered by a hanging curtain. “You’ll be alone there. Just…stay away from the street. It is going to be a bad town tonight.”

Without a word, Qing brushed him off walked across the room, heading for the stairs. It felt as if his whole being would implode, or maybe explode, from the frustration building up inside.

Why do I always have to come up with the plans?

The tassels shook as he hurried between them and stomped up the stairs, feeling a million eyes on his back.

The whitewashed steps seemed to go on forever as he passed through several floors, before finally stepping out onto a blue rooftop. Jorik’s house were two stories taller than any of the buildings nearby, and it offered a spectacular view of the city.

Qing took a slow breath, forcing a scream down. Then he walked to the edge and gripped the low wall. A piece ripped right off, crumbling underneath his fingers.

“Oh shit.”