Disenchanted by Robert Kroese

coyly. The road north of Plik was wide enough for two horses side by side, and she took advantage of this by riding along Boric’s right side. She still wore the messenger’s uniform but had removed the beard and wore her hair in braids. When they passed other travelers, she would pull her hood over her head and let Boric do the talking. She would have made a pleasant traveling companion if she had just shut up for five minutes. “I might ask you the same thing, Derek,” she said.
    “I assure you my beard is quite real,” said Boric.
    “But you’re no more a messenger than I am.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “You talk like an aristocrat. You try not to, but you slip into it when you forget yourself.” She contorted her face into a mockery of Boric’s stolid demeanor. “I assure you my beard is quite real,” she growled, dropping her voice an octave.
    Boric scowled.
    “Cease your prattling, wench!” she went on.
    Boric found himself smiling in spite of himself.
    “I assure you that my sword is quite long!” she growled.
    Boric broke into a laugh. “All right, enough,” he said. “It’s true, I’m not a messenger. I am the son of a nobleman from Brobdingdon. My father is quite wealthy, but as the third of three sons I don’t stand to inherit much. The king offered a reward for killing the ogre, and I volunteered.” This account was true, of course, although it left out some important details.
    “I knew it!” said Milah.
    “Your turn,” said Boric. “Why are you traveling as a messenger?”
    “Because I am a messenger. Check the official rolls. Milo of Skaal.”
    “You signed up for the Messenger Corps under an assumed name?”
    “I had to. They don’t accept girls.”
    “Because it isn’t safe for a girl to travel alone.”
    “I’ve done all right,” she said, patting the pommel of her sword. “Been on the road for over a year now.”
    “You’ve been lucky,” said Boric.
    “I’ve been careful,” she replied. “In any case, I’m almost done.”
    “Done?”
    “Brobdingdon is my last stop. I have one last message to deliver, to King Toric.”
    Boric’s eyebrow raised at the mention of his father. He would have asked Milah who the message was from, but telling him would violate the messengers’ code of conduct.
    “You know the king?” she asked.
    “I’ve met him,” said Boric.
    “I hear he is a wise man, but that his sons are cowards and fools. Is that true?”
    “It’s mostly true,” Boric admitted.
    “Does your father have any… influence with the king?”
    “My father?”
    “You said your father was a wealthy nobleman.”
    “Well, yes, I suppose the king has taken advice from my father from time to time.”
    Milah clenched her fists in the air. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I knew it! This is the one! It’s finally going to happen! Why didn’t I go to Ytrisk first? People said that it was a backward province, that the king didn’t have the money and wouldn’t see the value, so I wasted a year traveling to the other five kingdoms. And it turns out I should have gone to Ytrisk first! But then I might not have met you, and obviously our meeting was meant to happen. So that you could take me to your father, and he could talk to the king!” She squealed with excitement.
    Boric regarded her, puzzled.
    “My message,” she explained. “It’s not really a message. I mean, it is. It’s a message from me. About an opportunity. Something that could change the world. My father, you see, was one of the court alchemists in Avaress. He was killed in one of the barbarian invasions after the Fall, but his notes survived. My older brother inherited his laboratory, but he had no interest in alchemy. I’ve always been fascinated with it, though, ever since I was a kid. A few years ago I started reading my father’s notes and I realized what he was trying to do and how close he was when he died. I convinced my brother to allow me to continue his work. The deal was that