Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

Duran had to stop and ask for directions three more times (one lamp-lighter, one man with a knife who seemed very interested in donations, and two ladies with strangely low-cut clothing for the temple district) before he finally made it to the great bridge.

The Southern District was like a gleaming landmark. Buildings were short there, all bone-pale and covered in lights like it was a year-round festival. There were banners flapping on some of them, in all different colors. They must be very rich, to be able to re-dye them every time they bleached away in the sun.

In front of him, drifting towards the ocean, full of opportunity, was the Always. It stretched from bank to bank, the only water he’d seen in an actual river channel since being here. The bridge was magnificent too, a construction of soaring marble that was brightly lit by torches every few feet.

He trotted across, stopping to stare at every decorated statue. They had different figures for all of the gods, he thought- at least that was what they seemed to be, figures holding up the railing of the bridge- but he couldn’t figure out what all of them were. He was peering down at a man with a big beard when someone came up to talk to him.

“Oh, I think I know where I’m going now,” he said. It was probably the man with the knife again. He’d turned out to be very persistent until Duran took out the sword so they could compare. “But thank you!”

He squinted closer. Was that a crown? What god wore a crown?

“Remove yourself from the statue of King Aquila at once.” Before Duran could comply- which he would, probably, or at least think about it- he was being lifted by his shoulder and pulled up to stare at the person speaking.

“We don’t have a King!”

He stared up at the guard. The guard might have stared down at him. He was wearing a big helmet, unlike the ones they’d seen at the harbor, who had held their helmets under their arms. Tonight, as the moon was high overhead and the winds picked up, it was actually rather chilly.

“What are they teaching you these days,” said the guard. Everything came through a bit tinny, due to the helmet. “Obviously we don’t have Kings anymore. That doesn’t mean the olds ones just went away.”

“So you made them part of your bridge?”

“The bridge was made back when we had-” The guard groaned. “I’m not going to argue with a child. I’m not!”

“I’m not a child!” Duran scrambled back and reached for the sword. The guard grabbed his wrist.

“Not up here, you don’t. Do you have the seal of a noble house?”

Duran frowned. “Like the big northern fish?”

“I want to know if someone’s asked for you,” said the Guard. “A noblewoman, maybe. You might be delivering a letter. Maybe someone-”

“I’m here to help my Mistress!” Duran perked up. “She’s about this tall-” he gestured- “And she has an apron, and she’s loud, and kind of scary. And she has dark hair.”

The guard’s armor creaked as he stepped back. “I should have known.”

“What?”

“Just go,” said the Guard. “Do not mention this to anyone.”

“I would never!” Duran knew it! He was perfect at this. He bounced past, making record time. He’d see Madam Elysia, and she’d know he was a great apprentice. Probably the best she’d ever had.

He was nearly off of the bridge, already basking in the bright lights of the Southern District, when he heard it. It wasn’t so much a cry for help as it was… a demand?

“Help me.”

Yes. That was definitely a full stop, not an exclamation point. Duran paused, looked around. The voice had been weak, trembling. Surely…

“Help. Me.”

The wind picked up. Duran wandered over. He peered over. There, caught in the thick waters of the Always. About half a body’s length from shore, a boy his age was suspended in the water. He seemed to be half-wading, half-swimming. Fully stuck.

His face was red with exertion. He struggled, pulled downstream. He turned up to stare at Duran. “Well?”

Duran bit at his lip. “You’re supposed to ask,” he said. “Maybe say please?”

“It is below me to beg for help,” said the boy.

Duran looked down at the boy. The boy looked up at him. Duran had to admit, he did have fancy clothing on. The top half of him, at least.

“Hurry up,” said the boy. “There’s a branch coming.” It was moving at a little more than a slow trot. Since it was a rather large branch, though, he was right to be afraid.

Duran stared at the water. This was his chance to be a hero. But, well. The boy was a little annoying. “You’ll say I’m a hero?”

“What?”

“You’ll say I rescued you and that I’m a hero?”

“…yes?”

It was too late. Duran was already scrambling down the bank. He pulled his sword off, belt and all, and held out the scabbard. He braced himself backward with his full body weight as the other boy grabbed onto the sword. With his full strength, the river made a sucking noise as they both tried to pull the boy free.

They pushed. They shoved. The river made a shrieking sound. As the branch approached, ever-slowly, the boy finally came free with such a sudden movement that he went tumbling, head over heels, over Duran. As he came thudding down, the sword flew over in an arc and fell on the street above.

Duran abandoned him immediately and went to grab the sword. As he buckled it on, the boy came scrambling up the bank.

“Hey! You abandoned me!”

“I was getting my sword,” Duran informed him. He patted it in satisfaction. “A good blade, is it not?” He’d given a great amount of thought to his choices. Only this sword had been worth stealing. It was big and it was fancy. The biggest and the fanciest. The best to be a hero with.

“I suppose you stole it,” sniffed the boy. “You’ve done a poor job of being a hero. My boot’s left in the river, and I’m coated in filth.”

He was a mess, that was for sure. He had his own sword, but like everything else, it was completely coated in mud. Duran eyed him with some disgust. “Why did you even go swimming in the first place?”

“I didn’t- I had a raft.”

They both turned to look at the Always. Nothing remained except for silty, uneven waters. No sign of a raft. “Don’t become a boatswain,” said Duran.

“How else was I supposed to cross!” The boy stomped one stockinged foot. “I’m important! They’ll hardly overlook my position simply because I wish to-”

“Wish to what?”

“It’s hardly your business,” sniffed the boy.

“Well, I think it is.” Duran folded his arms. “Since I saved your life, and all.”

“Who are you, then?”

“You can call me Duran. Although I’m sure I’ll get a new title anytime now.” His heroic title: when the city finally recognized his service. The other boy didn’t respond. “Well? What about you?”

“Servius,” he said. He turned away and kicked at the ground.

“No title? Should I call you lord?”

“You should call me nothing, and forget this ever happened.”

“No chance of that,” said Duran. They still stood, halfway up the hill, watching the Always. “You’re going to go home with one boot, covered in mud?”

“Let me worry about it,” said Servius. He folded his arms. “It’s none of your concern.”

“It became my concern when I saved you-”

“You helped. A little-”

“-saved you from the dangers of the Always, where you would have perished from-”

“I wouldn’t have perished! I would have been bruised, a little-”

“-and lost all of your lands, probably, and your house taken over by the Law-”

“What?”

Duran shrugged. “Isn’t that how rich people do it?”

“No!”

“Sorry for not understanding your ways, my lord.”

Servius rolled his eyes. “What’s your plan, then, hero?”

“We’ll find a fountain,” said Duran. “Surely there’s got to be one. I’ll make sure all the mud is gone, as your hero, and show you back home. Then you can tell your parents how much I helped you.”

Madam Elysia would understand. He was being a hero! She could deal with the other issues as they came up. Then they would meet, and he would tell her all about it. Maybe he could even get a medal. Or some money. He wanted to buy more of those honey-glazed snacks from yesterday.

“As that plan includes telling my parents,” said Servius, “No! Of course not!”

“You don’t have to say why you were in there! We could have been- fighting off bandits. Wild pirates, or something! I saved your life.” Duran nodded. “Pirates makes more sense. That’s how you got wet.”

Servius stared at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so singularly delusional.”

“Fine,” said Duran. “I’m here for a different adventure anyway. Go make up your own lie.”

He spun on his heel. This was what he should have expected! Adventures were full of people who tried to stop the hero. Who tried to hold them back. Clearly-

“Wait,” said Servius. “Maybe- we can go to a fountain.” He coughed. “You’d back up any, ah, lie? About why I was, perhaps, out of the house?”

Duran stared at him. “Only if you tell them I deserve a reward,” he said.

“Deal.”

It took Duran a moment to realize Servius was offering him a hand. A handshake. They were being adults, then. He put his shoulders back. “Right,” he said. “To the nearest fountain!”