“It is. Your grandfather often said, ‘rumors cover ground faster than a hare,’ and he was right. Your father or Allan can tell you where I go if you want to know.”
“I’ll ask. May the Creator watch over you.”
“And you, Rob. You have the skills. No knight on the field will find you to be an easy opponent. Do not doubt that. Use your mind and think before you act. Manage that and you’ll do well for yourself.”
Rob smiled and offered his hand. “Thank you, Sir Dech. For… all of it.”
. . .
Chapter 26
Mayhaps pushed his way through the throng in the tent. Dech’s height and close-shorn hair made it fairly easy to spot him, but catching him was another matter. Hoping to rendezvous with Allan as well, the bard moved as fast as the crowd permitted.
Losing sight of Dech, he caught a glimpse of Allan and Gerald and headed that way.
Trying to pass around the edge of a knot of drinking, singing, and laughing knights, one of them saw him and grasped his arm as he passed.
“Aha, a bard! With instrument as well,” a swaying knight said with a gesture at Mayhaps’ case he carried slung over a shoulder. “Sing us a song or tell us a tale of brave deeds past.”
Mayhaps looked in Allan’s direction and saw he was no longer there. Irritated, he smiled unhappily at the knight and said, “Lines of an old poem for you. So many marched proudly to face the forces of the dark. So few returned somberly to face kin with expressions stark.”
“What, you think most of us will die, bard?” a knight said.
“History says so,” Allan replied, crowding some of the knights aside. “The source for his recitation is from the Second Cataclysm.”
“That so? Perhaps we change that this time ‘round.”
“Perhaps,” Allan said as he moved to stand next to Mayhaps. “Miracles happen. First though, we must repel Malig and that will be bloody enough. Should we succeed, this bard will immortalize us like no other could. There are some that think him the finest in the Southerlies.”
The gathered knights said nothing as Allan pulled Mayhaps clear of the drunks.
Mayhaps cracked a broad smile as he and Allan pushed through the mass of people. “Same as always, Allan. Maneuvering to have your name and deeds live on in song and saga.”
“You scoundrel,” Allan replied as he pounded the bard’s shoulder. “I’d heard you were dead… several times. I feared it might be true.”
“Not quite. Almost… several times.”
“It is a fine thing to see you. You’re here with Dech?” A nod told Allan it was so. “How did you end up at Dech’s side again?”
“I managed to pluck him from certain doom. Like always.”
Allan laughed boisterously. “Well, if we all survive this little affair, you must come to Spring Shire. We’ve catching-up to do.”
“I suppose we do at that.”
“Watch out for Dech if you can and yourself as well.”
“You do the same or I’m not going to Spring Shire.”
. . .
“You didn’t stay long,” Dealan said as Dech moved under the flap.
Dech found Dissy, Dealan, Erie, and Granum seated near the lamps that illuminated the interior. “Perhaps sisters in the order can carouse until the wee hours. It is looked on poorly among we knights.”
Dealan laughed. “So you return in good temper.”
“I suppose I do. I wished to look at our travel route. We must reach our destination in three days.”
“Three?” Erie asked with a pained expression. “We’re still going to the castle in Nevar?”
“That’s correct. We’ll take spare mounts to ease the horses’ effort and ride hard,” he said as he carried a map to the table.
As Dech was rolling out the map, Erie brought another lamp and placed it on one corner of the parchment.
That’s where we are going?” Dissy said placing her finger on the reference point for the Castle of the Dark Forest.
“It is,” Dech said.
“Does your course take us through the Brosalean?”
Dech shook his head. “It does not. I’m open to the idea.”
“I have a way I think. There are mercenaries covering the approaches to the castle, yes?” After Dech nodded she said, “Why not take a route through the Brosalean? No mercenary will survive should they venture in there. There are other hazards, but if one knows them….”
Granum seconded the suggestion with, “It cuts more than a day off the travel time.”
“If they’ll allow it,” Mayhaps said as he burst gracefully into the tent. “That may take some doing.”
“Given the situation, the elder council must consider it,” Granum said.
“They’ll listen at least,” Dissy agreed. “I have little standing there, but I do know some people we might speak to.”
“If they still dwell there, I do as well,” Granum added.
“Have you been within the Brosalean?” Dech asked.
“Some time ago, but yes. Not much ranging through the wilds like our fierce Dissy there, but I ventured forth a time or two.”
“A day’s less travel time is worth risking them turning us away. At worst, it costs us a few hours. Any other alternatives?”
Receiving nothing but headshakes, Dech nodded. “That was settled quickly. I’ll go tell the hostler of our needs.”
. . .
While wishing they had time to let the equines become acquainted, there simply wasn’t and they did the best they could when selecting mounts for the trip west. With Granum’s assurances he could sooth any contention among the horses, they prepared to depart.
Before they did, a small group came to wish them well, Gerald, Allan, Robert, and two surprises, Brother Theobald and Muriel Durham.
“You join us on our task? The more the merrier,” Mayhaps said prompting a laugh from those there.
“I’d rather it be you joining us,” Allan said. “Some of the minstrels and bards accompanying us are lacking.” Seeing Dissy, he smiled. “Not the little girl any longer. You look quite fierce. I’d say few push you around.”
“Not if I can help it,” she replied. “Still jovial as ever.”
“Aye. Hopefully I’ll go to my grave with a jest.”
“Be sure it’s not soon.”
Allan inclined his head. “I’ll endeavor to make that so. You do the same. Spring Shire will welcome you if you’ll grace us.”
Dissy nodded. “I just might take you up on that.”
“You’ll have half the kingdom in the shire if you keep that up,” Mayhaps said.
Muriel moved next to the warder and Dealan. “I am happy we can speak under circumstances that are not prohibited, though they are rather dire.”
“As am I,” Dech said. “You will serve during the battle should it come?”
“I must. Those in need can use my skills.”
“I fear your skills will be put to much use very soon.”
Muriel nodded. “And yours as well, though mine are not likely to place me in mortal peril.”
“They place you where you might keep others from death. Yours is a fight of a different sort than mine. Likely more important.”
“I doubt that.”
“No, Dech is correct,” Dealan said. “Ours is a necessary mission of destruction. Yours is one of mercy and restoration. Do not doubt the importance of what you do. You battle just as a knight does. Only the foes are different.”
“You humble me,” Muriel said with tearing eyes. “I hope to see you both if we prevail in this time.”
“We do as well,” Dech said.
. . .
The band rode through the camp as the army was busy with activities that would take them closer to battle. While some units had already taken to the road, others were still tearing down tents. As they arrived at the cobbled road that would start them west, the saw a small paper sign affixed to the signpost beneath the arrow shaped markers pointing to distant places.
“Someone spent a great deal on paper, ink, and printing,” Mayhaps said gesturing at a paper pegged to a signpost. “I saw stacks of those last night in the camp.”
The page read,
Tidings of Ill
From the Great Rift over Byrmont flies creatures of evil to every point of the compass.
The Cataclysm is full upon us.
Battle is nigh. Lesser rifts spout demonic forces across the realms as well.
Those that can must fight.
Those that have faith must pray.
Those that will do neither are damned.
“Better to buy byrnies, bows, or swords for those lacking them than spend coin on that,” Erie said.
“Yes, but you do not think like a rich man,” Mayhaps said. “The producer of that seeks to rally others and will crow of his accomplishment, should we survive all this.”
“Perhaps she or he sells byrnies, bows, and swords?” Dissy said.
Mayhaps laughed. “Now that is how a merchant thinks.”
. . .
Parts of King Harold’s army were on the move before dawn. A swift pace strained many to keep up, but knowing the farther they could go this day meant less energy expended the following day when battle might call. Halting at Margrave Stonde’s castle in the late afternoon would mean the last of the train would not arrive until well after dark. Situated to overlook the approaches through the Helsh Forest, the castle had well protected the Stonde family and Arataine for nearly a century.
The Margrave was an aged yet stout man that had long served the kings called Tancar. Guarding the marches with Nevar for most of William’s reign, he risked all in backing Harold against his half-brother Malig. Knowing he was faithful to the crown and suspicious of Duke Philip, Harold felt comfortable staying there.
The great hall was opened to all noble men-at-arms, but this night would not be a raucous affair with battle so close at hand. While drink was available, few would embarrass themselves by becoming inebriated at this juncture.
Allan led Rob into the hall and found it was already crowded, even more so than the tent the previous night. Many more fighters had joined the ranks as the army moved west and it seemed all sought the company of their fellow combatants.
“There are more high-ranking nobles here than there was when I was in Cruxford,” Robert whispered as the two stopped and looked for Gerald.
“A gathering of knights such as this is not like most you’ll see,” Allan replied. “We draw close to battle. What rank one holds within the nobility means little when the steel sings and blood stains the ground. Kings and dukes die as easily as squires and grooms. That being the case, all here are peers be they lowly knights bachelor, dukes, or something betwixt the two… just beware angering one above you. They have long memories and in other more formal settings might seek redress.” He pointed to the far side of the hall. “There’s your father.”
The two wound their way through the knights, stopping several times to speak with those who knew Allan and sought to wish the son of Gerald well.
Drawing closer, Rob could see those standing next to his father, two knights that had served alongside Gerald in the Throne War, Sirs John Nash and Owen Rogers. Also there was a young baron only a few years older than Rob, Lord Michael Talbot, 4th Baron Ruridge. As they neared Gerald, they heard Sir John concluding a tale about Gerald, one Rob knew well.
“Ah, and here is the next Moore to acquit himself on the field of battle,” John said at the young man’s approach.
“I am not nearly as accomplished as my father was at my age,” Rob replied.
“Worry not,” Sir Owen said. “Young you may be, but you wouldn’t be here if those that sent you didn’t think you ready and able.”
“He speaks true,” John agreed. “Every old campaigner here was young once. You won’t be fighting alone.”
“What if we do find ourselves alone?” Rob asked. “I know it happens.”
“That it does. Do what you were trained to do. Use your mind and act. Faltering brings harm to you and those around you. If you clearly see the need to flee, then spur the horse and ride. If your mind says charge, draw steel and set to work. Maybe, just maybe, your sword makes the difference between victory and defeat.”
“One man, knight or not, makes little difference in a battle as large as we head for,” the young baron said with authority. “Show me an example and I’ll show you a tale embellished many times over.”
A sound of disagreement and discontent came from the gathering.
“One knight making a difference, milord?” Allan said over the grumblings. “I’ve seen such more times than I can count, which I’ll freely admit is not high. You asked, so I’ll provide you with an example. A young knight fell upon a group intent on killing Lord Arundel and a man named Harold. A fight in the mud beneath the walls of the Fortress of the Order. One knight slew four and drove a King called Malig to wonder what befell him. Without that one knight acting in that one moment, we do not have a King Harold. How many here saw that of which I speak?”
Dozens of voices responded, a garbled confirmation of Allan’s claims.
“I too saw it with these very eyes,” Allan added.
“I saw it as well,” Gerald Moore said with a sad smile as he placed a hand on Allan’s shoulder. “The Battle of Creator’s Rock. The last time we three rode together.”
“Who was this knight?” the baron asked.
“Sir Dech Crouse,” several voices shouted.
The baron nodded after looking over the gathering. “Facing such might against my argument, I yield.”
“Your basis is sound, milord,” Allan said. “Such instances are rare. Chasing glory is chasing death, but there are times when one must act and hope he’s right in his reasoning.”
The baron smiled. “You tend my wounds with mercy, Sir Allan. Someone must have a tale of this fight. A gathering of so many veterans of that day must have a dozen tellings.”
“At least,” Sir Owen said. “Now there was a battle. A fight that should never have happened, but did.”
“How so?” Talbot asked.
“A wild occurrence that was entirely the work of three knights,” Sir Owen said. He pointed at Allan and Gerald. “Two of them stand right there.”
Rob leaned toward the knight. “Do tell.”
“That I will. We were sent to reinforce King Harold’s force while he was at the Fortress of the Order, all of us young knights or men-at-arms. Many of us had never seen war. What we found was Malig’s force setting up for a siege of the Rock. A vast array of warriors, engines of siege, and baggage to support it all. Malig’s pickets must have looked and laughed at our paltry force of youngsters sitting upon horse at the outskirts of Refuge wondering what to do against such an array of martial power.”
Several men of Gerald and Allan’s age laughed aloud.
“That father of yours suggested the charge, a crazy notion considering the numbers. Dech looked over it all and conceived a plan in moments, one in which no sane person would take part. Allan rode the line asking for those stout and brave enough to partake and somehow we followed along… every last one of us. A headlong charge into the rear of Malig’s forces. Dech claimed he knew of a vulnerable point and he’d lead us on a ride straight through. Madness it was! Sheer lunacy. Outnumbered six-to-one, but with those three at the head it didn’t matter. We rode like the Wild Hunt and carved a hole though the pickets and then through the rest of them with hardly a loss.” He closed his eyes at the memory and burst into laughter. “Then we turned and did it again.
“We set fire to the siege engines and killed or drove off the crews preparing the things. It was chaos, loud and burning mayhem. Malig had to deal with us before we burned his whole baggage train, and when he and his forces came down off the approaches to the Rock to do that very thing, we all thought we were done for, but not a man fled, not a one.”
“No, we formed again and charged!” a knight shouted proudly.
/> “Right into the center of them,” another called.
“That we did,” Owen said. “On the heels of our foes, Harold and his force charged from the fortress in a move as mad as Malig, the host of the contrition order with them. It became a melee the likes of which few will ever see. That day turned the war in Harold’s favor. A day of mad boldness and victory. Ah, glorious.
“For a fourth son never meant for the throne or to be a fighting man, Harold proved his worthiness that day with sword and shield. We all saw Lord Arundel knight him there in the mud and blood below the Fortress of the Order. A day of sights anyone present will never forget.”
“Aye,” said Sir John. “Saw Malig unhorsed for the first time in his whole life. Sir Dech and that uncanny skill of his took him from the saddle like he was no more than a farm boy. A shame Malig survived and even worse Dech’s not here with us.”
“Gerald saved my life three times that day,” another said.
“Allan must have saved Gerald’s twice that many,” another called.
Allan smiled and elbowed Gerald. “At least,” he said which drew a round of laughter.
“What we’re telling you, lad, is this,” said John, “you come from good stock and are the same age as many of us were that day. You keep your head, fight as you were taught, and look out for those around you, you’ll do fine.”
Owen grasped him by the arm. “Especially if your father and his seneschal taught you what they know.”
“And you know that they did,” a passing knight said as he slapped Rob’s shoulder.
Rob felt awe at the knights’ telling and the reverence paid to Allan, Dech, and his father. Having long known of their prowess, much of what he heard was not new, but in this place with these warriors, it meant something more.
The hall returned to its previous state, groups of fighters bunching up to talk of the coming fight, tell tales, and renew old friendships.
Rob stood and spoke with young men similar to him, but late in the evening, he saw Sir Owen alone, crossing the room with cup in hand. Breaking from his group, Rob approached the knight.
“Sir Owen, might I ask a favor of you?”
“As long as it’s not asking to borrow my horse, you’ll have it.”
The Warder Page 39