And the Knight Gets the King

By Anne deNize

Brann is a novice healer-priest who can’t heal anything. Try as he might, he cannot make the necessary connection with the god. His frustration leads him to take up the king’s quest which thrusts him into adventures destined to change his life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne deNize
• Release date: Apr 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476407944

Anne deNize

A New Zealander who grew up on a farm, studied languages and literature then went into computing and business administration. This took her through systems analysis, systems training, software design and IT project management. She is now following a long-held dream to write and combining it with a love for science fiction and a passion for child literacy - writing science fiction and fantasy for children and young adults. Recently she has been branching out into romance, fantasy and science fiction for adults.

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And the Knight gets the King

Anne deNize

Copyright 2012 Anne deNize

Epub format ISBN: 9781476407944

This is a work of fiction and all places and people are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a real place or person is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

I don't see why, Brann complained. I do everything you say. Well, mostly.

Yes, I know you do, you're a good lad. Well, mostly. The old healer priest's eyes twinkled and the novice in front of him had to chuckle. They got on well. It wasn't old Jerad's fault that Brann hadn't been able to manage a single healing yet. But Jerad was now insisting that it was time for Brann to set up on his own.

You know everything I can teach you.

But I still can't do it yet. I can't make the contact.

You will, just trust the god.

Brann grimaced. This was the unanswerable - just trust the god". Maybe this was the problem. He didn't trust enough, however much he tried.

You will still come here most days to help me. Don't pull faces, it'll work out fine. In the meantime, your task is at the city jail. Here's the fine for one Raf Lightfingers. He's in there for pickpocketing at the market. There was a chink of coins as Jerad handed Brann a small pouch.

Why do you want him out? Surely he's where he ought to be.

Actually, Brann, I don't know. The god says - so he must have something in mind.

Perhaps he's planning on converting him.

Maybe, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Jerad was comfortable with his relationship with the god. He did what he was told and the god came when healing was needed. He didn’t need to question.

Brann turned the conversation over in his mind as he walked up to the castle to see the jailer. He had no idea why the god would want some scruffy pickpocket out of jail. Life with Jerad was like that, though. If the god told Jerad something needed to be done, Jerad would get it done. Somehow it seemed to work out right. Brann couldn’t understand how the god told him. Jerad said it wasn’t words. And this was his problem. He couldn’t hear anything of the kind, however hard he listened. Jerad had selected Brann as his novice, said the boy would be a healer priest, but Brann just hadn’t been able to make it work.

He didn’t have anything else he’d rather be doing - except maybe talking to the baker’s daughter. He dwelled for a moment on fine gold hair, braided into plaits and tied up on a pretty head and an ample bust over a trim waist, just right for putting an arm around. Blue eyes twinkled in his memory but were chased abruptly away by another memory of a good slap to his face. He probably shouldn’t have tried to kiss her, but her father had been out the back at the oven, and it seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

Whaddya want? a rough voice interrupted Brann’s reverie, as the castle jailer confronted him. A strong smell of onion and garlic sausage assaulted his nose.

Release of a prisoner. Raf Lightfingers.

Fine? That’s two golds. You gotta hand it over or I don’t hand him over. The hulking man stuck his thumbs in his belt to make an excellent impression of a stone wall.

Got it here, Brann retorted briefly and waved the small pouch Jerad had given him. The giant’s chewed lips stretched in a wide and rather unattractive smile. Three missing teeth didn’t improve it.

Okay, stay here, the jailer grunted and disappeared through the wooden door which slammed behind him.

Relieved by the departure of the ghosts of onions and garlic sausage, Brann rubbed his nose and released his breath. A clattering heralded the violent ejection of a wiry, scruffy fellow who tripped on the top step and tumbled to the ground in front of Brann.

And don’t do it again! shouted the jailer, who had reappeared in the doorway. Whatever it was! He grinned at Brann again. Don’t know what you want that scrag-end for. Useless piece of …

Yes, all right, said Brann, hurriedly. Here’s the money. He handed the small pouch to the jailer, who tipped the contents out into one grubby palm. He bit both the coins and checked the resulting indentation.

It’ll do, he hawked and spat, stowing the coins back in the pouch and hiding it somewhere about his smelly tunic. We’ll probably meet again, he assured the thief. And I’ll look forward to it. Third time caught and you start losing things. Maybe a hand, could be something else. He gripped his crotch and leered. Something pr-r-recious, maybe.

Brann winced. Raf made a rude gesture as the jailer turned, banging his way back through the heavy door.

Would they really? Brann asked.

Dunno, but I’m not terribly keen on finding out. Y’know? Raf replied. Even a hand would be a major loss. But a man’s gotta live, y’know?

Hmm, not by theft, perhaps? asked Brann.

What else? Dunno anything else, was the prompt reply. And I’m pretty good at it. The thief scratched at the dark stubble covering the lower part of his face. What’cha get me out for? Waste of good golds, innit?

Beats me, my friend, said Brann. Jerad, the healer-priest, paid for it. Sent me to get you. Maybe to get you to a bath, he wrinkled his nose.

All right, you don’t need to tell me. You try living in a dungeon for a week. They don’t do hot baths, y’know. And you don’t need to look at me like that. A smelly thief is not a successful thief, y’know?

Ah, no, I didn’t, admitted Brann. He could see it made sense though.

So, where to now? Raf asked cheerily.

I guess back to Jerad, answered Brann. Is there anywhere else you want to be?

Nope, was the simple response.

Ah, I see you have retrieved our miscreant, was Jerad’s comment. Brann led the way into the bathroom. Jerad was proud of their bathroom - actually a separate room tucked at the back of the house. In this area, running water was piped along the street at the foot of the houses. A hand pump in the kitchen connected to