Gold & Glory

by M. H. Johnson

  Lord Canterbier couldn't help but look at the three youths in bemusement. Obviously, wherever they were from, their knighthood was an uncertain thing at best.

  3

  Soon enough, sunset turned to true nightfall, yet the bright moonlight gave them no difficulty staying on the road as they finally made their way to the lord's keep. It was, the triplets agreed to themselves as their carriage approached to the excited bustle of near a dozen individuals, an impressive structure. Constructed of thick blocks of stone, multiple stories in height, it looked like it had appeared straight out of one of their cousin's animated tales. The windows appeared to be little more than what Sorn would term arrow slits, and there appeared to be no doors, save for the imposing gatehouse large enough to emit the carriage straight through to the courtyard beyond.

  Immediately, the gathered keep's denizens began addressing their lord excitedly, assuring themselves that Lord Canterbier and his family were safe.

  "My lord, we have heard terrible things," said one young woman breathlessly. "We were given to understand that you were attacked by bandits! Thank the heavens you have returned safely." This statement incited a whole slew of excited queries, and it was doubtful that anyone would have heard any comment Lord Canterbier might have given over the din of the small crowd.

  Shortly thereafter, one man who seemed to be given unconscious deference made his way through the anxious gathering. "My lord, are you and your family all right? Nadelins is still with Chester, but I can of course bring her at a moment's notice." This from a smartly dressed man in a green uniform, middle aged from what Fitz could surmise, who appeared the sole calm voice of reason in a storm of uncertainty and gossip.

  "We are quite all right, Maleks," Lord Canterbier assured him. "How fares poor Chester?"

  "He will pull through, won't he, Maleks?" interjected the concerned voice of Canterbier's daughter. Her father looked down as Chestnut stepped out of the carriage, but did not fault her concern.

  "We believe he will, Lady Chestnut," Maleks assured her with a smile. "It was a chancy thing for a bit, but I believe Nadelins' potions and care pulled him through. It is most fortunate that he arrived as soon as he had," he added with a significant look for Chestnut's father. "I do hope it is all right that I gave our guest quarters and provisions? He did appear quite famished."

  "Of course, good Maleks." Lord Canterbier smiled. "And I thank you for your initiative. It would have been poor courtesy indeed to do otherwise for our most opportune guests."

  "Is it true, my lord, that the boy really flew all the way here from Deepwood? That he is some powerful mage in disguise?" asked one middle-aged lady from the crowd.

  "Certainly he eats my food like a mage in disguise," interjected the wry voice of a well-endowed women that even the triplets could tell must be the cook. Her profession was evident from the flower on the tip of her nose to her food-stained apron to the pleasant aroma of soup, bread, and venison emanating from her person like a delicious perfume.

  "Stop it, Fitz." Hanz demanded with a small shove to his brother.

  "What's wrong?" Fitz gave his brother a wounded look.

  "You're drooling on me!"

  This immediately garnered a couple chuckles from the crowd and a whole new host of questions regarding their mysterious guests, or knights in disguise as Lady Chestnut adamantly insisted, her own reservations turning to wholehearted assurance of the triplets' secret origins and noble status as she found herself animatedly telling the tale to her rapt audience.

  "Enough, good people," Maleks deftly interrupted the proceedings, turning to Chestnut. "I am sure we would love to hear the whole adventure, but let us wait until your family is settled, and we are at the dinner table where all may enjoy the story, lest you wish to repeat it endlessly this night? For I fear at present we will get nothing done otherwise," he finished with a smile.

  "Of course, good Maleks," Chestnut concurred. "In truth, I feel the need to freshen up myself. I will see you at dinner, Father." At which point, favoring the triplets with a final grin, she proceeded inside.

  Soon afterwards, the carriage was led into the coach house, the men-at-arms deftly taking the former bandits in hand.

  "So, will they be taken to a set of dark dungeons deep in the bowels of the keep, to spend their days listening to the dripping of water and the squeaking of rats until they become as pale as ghosts and as shriveled as wights?" Fitz asked animatedly.

  "I do believe I am beginning to understand where your perception of knights comes from lad, and no, I'm sorry to say that not everything is quite as it is stated in the story books," Lord Canterbier corrected with a smile. "Suffice to say they will be kept secure, but have no doubt, they will face justice." He said the last with a stern finality before stepping down from the carriage, gesturing for the triplets to do the same.

  "And now young heroes, I invite you to meet my wife and son." With a smile he opened the carriage door allowing for a delicate young woman to make her way out, green eyes wide and fear-filled still, looking as graceful and fragile as a fawn. To her breast and sheltered in part by her locks of auburn hair, she held an obviously hungry baby, happily feeding, safe in the adoring arms of his mother.

  "This is my wife Sarah, and my son John," Lord Canterbier's voice became tender as he gently held them close to him, Sarah's head instinctively leaning against his chest.

  "Thank you for saving us," Sarah said with a soft smile of her own. "Fortunately, the baby was asleep when the incident occurred," she finished with a shudder, looking again at the three abashed youths, eyes filled with admiration and gratitude. "We are indeed in your debt."

  "It was a pleasure for us to serve you, my lady," Hanz said happily with a courtly bow, enjoying the role of knight. "Saving damsels in distress is what being a knight is all about."

  "Well put, Hanz."

  "Yes indeed, well put!"

  Hanz grinned. "Thank you, brothers. Now what say we join our cousin inside. He isn't the only one who should enjoy feasting!"

  "Quite," Lord Canterbier agreed with a tolerant smile. He then proceeded to lead the animated youths inside, pointing out the occasional item of interest which in truth washed over the brothers like the murmur of a babbling brook, little registering for them at that moment save the delicious aromas of cooking venison, ham, and similar delectables.

  It was a mildly exasperated Lord Canterbier that found himself having to repeat his question twice before the three brothers finally registered what he was saying, so distracted they were by the mouth-watering aromas pervading this part of the keep.

  And it was, Lord Canterbier had to admit to himself, a trifle disconcerting to have three pairs of eyes glimmering in the lamplight like sapphires in truth when they finally did snap to his attention in unison.

  "I say, lads, did you want to freshen up first before the feast? You are, you have to admit, a tad bit worse for wear from your adventure. Maleks here would be happy to show you to your quarters, where he informs me you each have warm baths and fresh linens at your disposal."

  Lord Canterbier gestured to his manservant, Maleks, who gave his lord a respectful nod and turned towards the youths.

  "Indeed, gentle sirs. Your copper baths await, as do any number of linens for your perusal. And you will be happy to know as well, I am sure, that we were able to remove your silks from good Chester’s stretcher, only slightly the worse for wear, and our own good wizard Valentien was more than happy to mend and clean them for such august company as yourselves. Fine, fine material, might I add. Come, this way, good sirs".

  With that, Maleks led the bemused three to a set of rooms on the second floor, each well appointed with a woolen rug, finely polished hardwood furniture, and cozy looking beds. There was a tray with fruits, breads, and cheeses before a cheerful blaze in each room, upon which the youths immediately focused their full attention, devouring the contents in but moments under Maleks bemused gaze.

  In the center of each room was a warmed copper ba
th, each with a bucket of cool water, and a pail of soap and scrub cloths to its side. Upon each bed were several fresh sets of clothing.

  "I am happy to see that you appear to be enjoying your quarters." Maleks smiled. "Please enjoy your baths, and when you have dressed, ring the bell, and I shall escort you to the eating hall. Please note as well which clothes you feel most comfortable in, and I shall be sure to supply you with others of a similar size and cut." With that, Maleks bowed politely and left the adjoining set of rooms.

  "Quite exciting, isn't it?" Fitz smiled happily as he removed his fine mithril mail and weapon belt, dumping it casually before the bath.

  "Indeed, Fitz, enjoy your bath." With that, the two other brothers, so alike in feature and stance, went as one to their adjoining rooms, so they could also enjoy the warm luxury of the closest thing to a steam bath they were likely to experience here. Soon enough, after a bit of singing and soap play, three far fresher looking youths, newly dressed in linens a size too large that bunched strangely mid-thigh, but which were otherwise acceptable, rang their bells and awaited Maleks.

  "Well, young sirs, you look far fresher, and the linens do suit your natures, though normally Lord Canterbier's guests don't feel the need to wear their blades to the dining hall," Maleks explained as he approached the youths. "Rest assured, our armsmen are well trained, and shall let no harm come to you," he finished with a smile.

  Fitz looked quizzically at Maleks. "But, we're knights," he said, his brothers nodding as if nothing more need be said.

  "Yes, lads, I know," Maleks allowed, choosing to let the idea of twelve-year old knights be a moot point for the moment. "But it is normally custom for other lord's knights, and men-at-arms as well, to come to the table unarmed. Even a lord's own men not actively on duty rarely wear arms to the table, unless of course the keep is under siege or we expect attack. Something which, I assure you lads, has not been experienced in these parts for a good number of years."

  Fitz and Lieberman shared a confused glance, then turned to Maleks. "But, sir, we aren't another lord’s knights, we are our own."

  "And we were attacked, in the woods just today!" Hanz chimed in.

  "Yes, and it’s our solemn duty to protect damsels in distress," Lieberman said solemnly.

  "And other people!" Fitz corrected.

  "I know that!" Lieberman glared at Fitz. "But all Sorn's books emphasize damsels in distress! So we have to pay particular attention to damsels in distress."

  "Today we saved two!" Hanz observed happily. "The books didn't mention anything about babies. Do you think they count for extra?"

  "Probably," Lieberman allowed, sagely. "They are harmless and helpless like damsels, and they probably need extra saving."

  "Quite right," Fitz agreed. "Two damsels and a baby. Good show, my brothers!"

  "And Lord Canterbier," Lieberman added. "Do you suppose he counts for extra, being a lord?"

  "I would guess so," said Hanz, giving Lieberman's question a moment's thought. "But I'm not sure. Let's ask Sorn when we get downstairs."

  "Lads?"

  "Yes Maleks?"

  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

  "What's that, Maleks?"

  "The swords. Any true knight in the stories wouldn't hesitate to respect their host's wishes and show his friendship by coming to the dinner table unarmed."

  Sheepishly, the boys put their sword belts on their beds before following Maleks downstairs, reminding him of nothing so much as his nephews, none of whom were over the age of eight.

  It was the smells that hit the triplets first as they approached the dining hall. The aroma of cooked venison, sweet honeyed ham, game birds and stew, all created a delightful blend of tantalizing scents that only served to wet their hunger to an ever keener pitch, riveting their interest and appetites as they made their way to the banquet hall. Everyone raised their cups to the brothers as they entered the hall, at which point the triplets were formally escorted to seats next to their cousin at the lord's own table. Everyone in the keep seemed to be there; laborer, farmer, and servitor alike, with their lord and his family. Cheerful conversation washed over all four youths, as they had, in truth, rarely been in the presence of so many talking beings at once.

  The triplets dug into their food ravenously, and it was every bit as savory and delicious as they had hoped it would be.

  Sorn looked fondly at his cousins, bemused by the looks of surprise sent their way as the servitors were forced to refill their trenchers twice over to everyone else's far more casual pace.

  Their bodies probably needed the nourishment, Sorn reflected, as of course most of the food consumed would go to their growth and maintenance on a deeper level. Theirs was a nutritional requirement that Sorn knew would be minimal, so long as they stuck to their present form. It was definitely an important consideration to keep in mind, at least until they had the resources to own a farm or even a keep of their own.

  Sorn happily reflected upon Lord Canterbier's own well-constructed domain. He knew that the lord controlled vast tracts of land devoted to farming, having seen the cows and sheep from his flight overhead, and he couldn't help wondering how much livestock the lord truly owned. He sighed, missing already the glorious joy of that flight, the power he had felt with each beat of his wings, the heady feeling of exultation that had coursed through him as he surveyed all the lands below, above everyone and everything.

  Truly, he had felt nothing less than a lord of the skies. Yet for all the rapture he had taken in his flight, reveling in the cool wind roaring past him as the ground flew by at breathtaking speed, he had never forgotten the gravity of his mission. For as much as he had desired to dance among the clouds soaring high above, he knew he had to keep his flight low for the sake of Chester. Gravely injured and close to death, Sorn had no doubt that the poor man would be ill served by too high an altitude, with its thinner air, brisker winds, and biting cold.

  It had been a somewhat wearying trip, however, as exhilarating as it was to taste the air of a completely new world rushing past his wings. Being obliged to fly so low to the ground for the sake of Chester, he had found it very difficult to find all but the weakest currents of ether to ride that were flowing in the direction of the keep. Indeed, as often as not he had to ride against the flows, weak as they were, being so close to the ground.

  Normally, his inherent magic was a tremendous boon to him as it allowed him to be held aloft by riding the waves of mana that flowed everywhere as much as by the air itself, if not more so. Indeed, when one's altitude was sufficient, one could find a myriad of power currents heading off in all directions of the compass, currents so strong as to allow one to obtain incredible speeds with hardly any effort at all.

  Yet the journey he was forced to make flying so close to the ground had been just as taxing as if he had been racing high above the clouds, riding massive currents of power, flying faster than the very sound of his exultant roar.

  Thus Sorn found himself quite famished as well as fatigued when he gently touched down, making sure the wooden pole dropped to the side of poor Chester before dropping to the ground and appearing seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of the courtyard. It was a maneuver that had admittedly resulted in a badly frightened clothing mistress who threw her laundry with a shriek, not to mention some very surprised looking guards, before Sorn was able to state that he was arriving on behest of Lord Canterbier himself. It was at that point that Sorn had revealed to the several nervous looking guardsmen approaching him the signet ring that Lord Canterbier had given him.

  Soon after, a young fair-haired woman dressed in green wearing a white apron had approached. Her telltale scent of herbs and things arcane clued Sorn in at once as to whom she must be.

  Nadelins, Lord Canterbier's healer, took a careful view of poor Chester. Inadvertently jostled, perhaps, by Sorn's careful landing, Chester was even at that moment beginning to awaken and groan piteously. Nadelins wasted no time, immediately stepping forward and gently sniffing hi
s injury, holding the wounded man's hand reassuringly as she did so. After giving his hand a final reassuring squeeze, she barked for the guards to bring the stretcher upstairs, after cutting it free of the long pole. The guardsmen had trouble with the silk strips, however, in truth hardly being able to mark it, however much they sawed at it, causing Sorn to sigh as he was forced to use his not inconsiderable strength to snap the pole outright, an action which itself earned him no few looks of surprised disbelief. Yet for all that, his cousin's fine silks were still in tatters, and so he was happily surprised to learn later that Canterbier’s wizard Valentien knew of lore that would cause his cousins’ silks to re-knit themselves perfectly.

  Though she flashed Sorn a curious look, Nadelins wasted no time in conversation, proceeding instead to lead the armsmen into the keep, presumably to wherever they treated the injured here. At that point, Sorn had found himself in the care of the family's butler Maleks, who was kind enough to provide him food in return for Sorn's account as to what had occurred.

  "So, you would be a full mage then, young sir?" Maleks had inquired politely as Sorn busily polished off his third bowl of rich stew. This being said shortly after Sorn had finished telling Lord Canterbier's amiable manservant the full story of what had occurred from the moment Sorn and his cousins had first come upon the scene of the bandits' ambush, to the flight that had landed Sorn and Chester safely at the keep.

  Sorn strove to gloss over the fact he had been in crow form at the time of the ambush, not to mention how he had specifically managed to get the best of their leader, a move that had surprised Sorn himself at the time. Pure reflex, he supposed. The eye had been bobbling about in his crow-like belly before he had even thought through the maneuver, though soon enough its essence had been absorbed to feed his true form.

  Maleks was perceptive, however, and Sorn would take no pleasure from lying to the man for a number of reasons, so made sure to watch his words carefully. He found himself repeating the events a second time at the behest of the keenly intent manservant, grave brown eyes conveying his deep concern for his lord despite all Sorn's assurances of his safety.