With a lighter jauntier step to her gait, Falon whistled as she arrived outside the tent of the enemy knight.
Chapter 5: Ransom me on my Faith and on my Honor?
“Greeting, Sir Orisin,” Falon said, striving for her best, most proper manner as she met with the highly bred man with the salt and pepper beard and gray hair right in front of his ears.
“Ah, it’s Mister Falon Rankin of Two Orchards,” Orisin said with a pleasant smile. The reasonably good greeting was spoiled slightly by the hint of sourness around his eyes.
“I take it you are not as happy to see me again, as I am to see you?” Falon asked, feeling a touch of coolness enter her voice.
The knight splayed his fingers.
“If thou, the man to whom I surrendered, had been…lost on the battlefield, I would have been forced to pay a small, but fixed, safe passage fee to one of thy lords—or perhaps Prince William himself, long may he suffer in the lesser hells for his infamy during the duel,” the Knight said, looking put out. “As I have that passage fee amount in my pocket at the moment, I could have been repatriated along with the common soldiers,” he said evenly, “alas, as it is…”
“You have to deal with me,” Falon said flatly.
“Thou asked for the truth,” the Raven Knight shrugged, “this I gave thee.”
“Yes, I did,” Falon said suppressing the urge to make a moue of displeasure with her mouth.
“The rules of warfare mean thou gets all of my valuables outright, except for my signet ring—something which I doth not possess in the first place,” he said with a sigh. “Also protected are personal family heirlooms, or objects de-art—which, again, I do not have—and my sword. Still, if I did have them, I would have the privilege and the opportunity of ransoming such items back,” Orisin said with a heavy sigh.
“Right,” Falon said, being almost completely unfamiliar with the details of ransoming a Knight captured on the battlefield. It wasn’t the kind of thing a properly raised young lady had to worry about much, at least not until after marriage when a husband might possibly get himself captured.
Or rather, she corrected herself, a Knight husband. But still, this all sounded logical to her. And since none of the rest applied, hopefully his coin purse was rather hefty.
He tossed her a jingling sack of coins at her and then toed forward a saddle-pack.
“There, thou can have it all: twenty gold coins, plus an equal number—not value, mind you—of assorted silver and copper. It is all the money I can lay claim to at the nonce,” he said with a sigh and a bittersweet smile. “Have it, along with my gratitude for the sparing of my life.” He didn’t sound very grateful but that wasn’t really any of her business. Falon figured if she was in his shoes, she’d be feeling pretty ungrateful right at the moment too, but that wasn’t what worried her right now.
“That’s all you have?” Falon struggled to keep the dismay she was feeling off her face at discovering she was only raking in slightly over twenty golds. If this was really all there was then she was either going to have to rob the supply fund and become a thief, or let the dresses go—neither of which she was willing to consider.
“Exercising my rights, as thy sworn prisoner, I am of course interested in ransoming back my sword and my armor,” Sir Orisin’s face twisted with self-mockery. “Alas, not being from a rich family and with my personal finances fallen into something of a disarray, I doth find myself in a bit of a bind. I joined this little war of Prince Hughes to, in some small part, remedy this lack of lucre but as thou canst see,” he spread his hands to indicate his currently reduced and constrained circumstances.
Weapons and armor won’t sell quick, Falon thought furiously, or rather they would but at only a fraction of their value. However, if he couldn’t ransom them back they would be hers by right, so it might be better to hold onto them until later. Much as she hated to think of doing it to her sisters, she might be better off giving up on the dresses and sending the armor home. A girl without a pretty dress, but in possession of a suit of plate armor for her dowry, might have almost as many marriage prospects…or even more.
Of course, right then she had the potential for lots of dresses, enough to give one to every sister, but she didn’t have enough armor for the same.
“Do you have a solution?” Falon paused then realized she wasn’t putting this the best way, she needed to take a step back and remember her manners and composure. “I mean I assume you have a solution of course, Sir Orisin,” she said, trying her best to sound her most formal and thinking that it just might be possible that he had some other form of payment that might allow her to lay her hands on all six dresses? Oh, how she coveted those gowns!
Sir Orisin’s face twisted, and if Falon wasn’t misreading him, the middle-aged knight did so with a touch of bitterness.
“Perchance thou wouldst be willing to accept me entirely on mine good word and credit?” asked Sir Orisin with a particularly weak attempt at a smile. “On my faith and on my honor as a Knight, I would promise to pay thee back as soon as I am able?”
Falon hesitated and then decided it was best to temporarily change the subject. Refusing to take a knight on his sworn word of honor could cause problems with more than just protocol. Yet, losing both the dresses and the armor was completely unacceptable to her.
“What of the other knight, Sir Orin I believe he was, in possession of sword and armor…possibly even the owner of a small coin purse?” she asked hopefully and stalling for time. “Have his belongings been fully accounted for, perchance?” Falon continued the question as smoothly as possible.
“Traditionally, the sword of a fallen Knight goes back to his family, but his armor is all thine,” Sir Orisin replied sourly, the memory of his dead sword-brother obviously still strong.
She stared at him silently, and he blinked at her before releasing a pent-up breath.
“It’s over there,” he said, pointing to a pile of armor and equipment in the corner of the room.
Suppressing her eagerness, Falon tried to take slow unhurried steps as she went over to inspect the pile for the dead knight’s coin purse It was all rather gruesome taking a dead man’s possessions to pay for dresses but—
“’Course, there’s only a few silvers in it,” Orisin said with an air of vindicated satisfaction. “I know for a fact he had at least a half dozen golds on him at the time he left camp for the last time, but by the time it reached this tent…”
Her fists clenched. Why was she surprised that someone had taken the chance to fill his own purse at her expense? She took a cleansing breath; she wasn’t going to get mad at her friends and neighbors over a half a dozen gold pieces—even if it would have put her within one coin of paying Aodhan!
“Well then,” she said, trying for her most neutral tone, “I suppose that’s only to be expected.” If she had to sell one of the suits of armor at less than its full price, or better yet just a major piece like an arm guard or the breastplate, then she would still be able to pay for the dresses. Her eyes narrowed in calculation as she tried to asses a value for the slain Orin’s aging suit of plate armor.
“About ransoming my armor and sword?” Orisin prompted, interrupting her silent musings.
Falon gave herself a shake and turned back to the Knight. “Yes?” she inquired as politely as she could manage.
“If thou were to release me on parole, I could perchance return to Raven camp and raise a sum of golds for its return,” he paused and looked at her shrewdly. “Say…fifty golds?”
Falon stared at him, momentarily tempted by the offer, but then she covered her mouth as she laughed.
“Mister Rankin!” the Knight sounded offended.
“Squire,” she corrected him absently.
Sir Orisin blinked. “Squire?” he asked sounding taken aback.
“Yes,” she said firmly, and remembered how much they had gotten at scrap metal prices for the old rims of their wagon wheels she added, “and even at scrap metal prices I could
get close to fifty golds for your armor!”
Orisin scowled at her angrily. “Perchance twenty five—if that! At scrap ‘armor’ metal prices,” he disagreed and then his shoulders slumped, “not that I was sure I could have raised the fifty golds after this debacle, anyway, thou understands,” he finished with a grumble.
“What’s a poor knight like yourself doing on the battlefield of a,” her mouth twisted bitterly, “Flower War?”
Sir Orisin looked at her sharply, clearly taking offense at the question. “A Squire, is it now, Lieutenant Rankin of Two Orchards?” he asked.
“Squire and Lieutenant, thanks to this War,” Falon agreed bitterly.
“Never saw thyself as a leader of men then,” the Knight said shrewdly.
“Hardly,” she exclaimed with feeling, “that had to be just about the last thing on my mind!”
“Aye, thou art a younger son then and not the most ambitious sort,” the Knight said with a hint of censure in his voice as he gave her a searching look. He splayed his hands, “But after thy performance on the field, I have to say thou wilt probably do.”
Falon looked at him nonplused. He was suggesting that she evidenced a lack of ambition? She was quite ambitious for a girl! Running around pretending to be boy, fighting in battles she’d never had the slightest training for—even filling the shoes of a company Lieutenant!
“Tis a simple tale, in truth,” Sir Orisin started and it took her a moment to refocus her thoughts. “The prince needed the swords and I needed the money,” he said bluntly, “a man without a rich family or lands of his own, needs to take any honorable work he can get. Even if,” he grunted, “it was only likely to be a low grade Flower War.”
“Low grade!” Falon declared her objection to the term with anger.
“Everyone expected it to end with a personal duel between the principles,” he growled pointedly.
Falon flushed. If Prince William, her side’s leader had acted with honor, then the victor of this ‘Flower War’ would have been Sir Orisin’s own Prince Hughes.
“Not a lot of spoils expected in those circumstance, Squire,” he said, emphasizing her new title, and thus the social gulf between them, even if he was his prisoner. He then added in a hard voice, “Or losses, for that matter.” The Knight looked around the tent to pointedly emphasize his current condition, “But at least it would have paid the daily upkeep and expenses, and yielded just enough left over for a small walking around purse,” he pointed to the pouch still in her hands.
It took the fifteen year old girl a moment to process that even high and mighty Knights might be as strapped for cold, hard coins as the Rankin family.
She bounced the twenty plus gold pieces in her hands, as clearly there was ‘coin-strapped’ and then there was strapped for coins! If Krissy couldn’t even pay a carter to bring Falon her message and had to practically beg her own younger sister to pay for the message that had already delivered, the young Rankin girl didn’t exactly feel brimming over with sympathy for a man with twenty golds bouncing around in his purse.
“The fortunes of war,” Falon mused, remembering all the bardic tales and common saying surrounding war and warfare.
“As fickle as a woman,” the Knight agreed with a sighed.
Falon gave him a startled look but one that quickly sharpened. “What do wom—” she cut herself short and shook her head. She really didn’t need to know what women, a gender that had little to nothing to do with war, equated in the male mind. “Never mind, it’s not important,” she said firmly.
The Raven Knight looked at her oddly, a question in his face.
Then another thought occurred to her and she silently kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier.
“But, regarding your ransom,” she said quickly, to distract him from her briefly un-man-like flash of confusion and outrage, “what about the Raven Prince? Surely as your General and ultimate Liege Lord, he would pay for the release of one of his Knights?”
His face cleared of confusion and he looked at the ground disheartened. “I’m a free Knight, sworn to no Prince or Lordling,” he said glumly. “Worse, I’m from the Short Mires. So it’s doubtful anyone will pay out for me. I’m on my own.”
“Short Mires?” Falon asked in open confusion.
“The Short Mires are populated by the descendants of the War Women of old,” he explained. At her curious look, he expounded, “Thou must surely know of the ones who stopped fighting and surrendered themselves to our King, of the time, and his men in exchange for peace and their lives? It ended the War between the people, Old and New, in the Raven Lands. They swore to never practice nor teach magic again, and in exchange they would be settled in the Short Mire with their children spared. Their sons were to hold dominion over the various tracts of the Short Mire as true Ravenmen, upon the deaths of their mothers.”
“Oh,” Falon nodded with understanding.
“Or, so it was said,” Sir Orisin continued, his face tightening before he shook his head the tension leaving his posture, “but tis rare to be treated as a true brother by other Raven Knights. There is always some suspicious cuss looking at thee crosswise. A claim to noble blood, based on descent from a woman—and an old Witchy Woman at that, who used to called herself a Witch Queen is still fairly suspect in most quarters.”
“Yes,” Falon nodded in understanding and mildly intrigued to hear stories of other women who fought and went to war, “there are still many suspicions between the New Bloods and Old Bloods in our lands as well. Although I have to say, I’ve never heard of lands being bestowed like that here.”
The Knight nodded. “Even still, the Prince is a member of the Royal Family. He should…,” she trailed off doubtfully. The whole point of feudal oaths and duty was protection up and down. She could see why the other Raven nobles might not want to loan him the coins but it sounded like the Short Mire had some kind of personal arrangement with the King’s House. “In truth he might very well ransom my person,” Orisin looked unhappy at this admission, “but not my arms, armor or mount.”
“Ah,” Falon said, just for something to say that didn’t make her sound completely stupid. Even as she said it, several things became so obvious that she could have kicked herself. He’d as much as said he was desperate to get his armor back, and that no one would pay for it.
“As a poor country Knight without his arms and armor…,” Sir Orisin trailed off sadly.
“Not to mention his dead horse,” Falon added, her mind flashing back to broken spears and screaming horses. She blinked away a vision of the battle before it could overtake her fully.
Sir Orisin gave himself a shake. “Mercenary work or swearing to a Liege Lord are the only two options and at my age,” he said grimly, “let us simply say that mercenary work is the best option.”
Something at a loss Falon shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Well, I wish you luck with that,” she said simply.
Orisin cleared his throat.
“I am given to understand that you are hiring for a company of your own?” he asked mildly.
She blinked. “Yes, the Fighting Swans Company…or Battalion, I’m not quite sure if the name’s settled yet,” she explained cautiously. “It might depend on how recruitment goes.”
“Dost thou have any room on the roster for an older Knight?” Sir Orisin asked.
It took a second for the words to sink in and then Falon reared back in surprise. She could almost feel the shock crawling across her face like a toddler after some honeycomb.
“Oh, don’t look like that,” the Raven Knight chided, “I know thou art struggling for recruits.”
“We’re a foot formation, and the pay—,” Falon cut herself off in favor of staring at the Knight in shock. “We just defeated you!”
“Let me be the keeper of my pride,” Sir Orisin advised her, “and as for future conflicts with my Kingdom, did I now hear correct that thy Prince is planning a Northern Campaign?”
“Yes, but—,” Falon started.
“But me no butts, young Squire,” the Raven Knight said sternly.
“Yes bu—,” she cut herself off. “I mean, that is, we’re an infantry company. We’re peasants! And the pay is only a single gold a month and-and-and,” she floundered before blurting, “you’re a Raven!”
The Knight waved his hands through the air as if shooing away a slightly noxious odor. “An thou pays me not in coin,” he declared in a voice that sounded quite a lot like a quote of some kind, although it was one the young teenage girl was unfamiliar with. Then he immediately turned around and contradicted himself, “One gold a month will be sufficient, as all I need in coins is enough to feed myself. Simply allow me to keep or sell back to you anything I capture on the field, as is traditional.”
“That’s it?” Falon asked suspiciously.
“Pfah!” he declared, “am I not a man currently without horse? The infantry is the life for me.”
“You’re that ready to march with foreign peasants and serve under a mere Squire?” she asked with disbelief.
“Not merely a Squire, but an Officer of the Swan Lord,” Orisin said, chewing absently on his beard.
Falon had to suppress a moue of distaste at the way a man would treat his facial hair when in the presence of ‘other men’. He wasn’t quite as bad as Duncan and the boys, but it was just more of the same.
“I see thou doubts me,” Sir Orisin said flatly, apparently picking up on her mood, despite her best attempt to disguise it.
The young Rankin girl felt her cheeks turning red and suppressed the urge to squirm in her seat.
“But is not thy Captain also a Knight, or have I heard wrongly?” he said and then didn’t wait for her to reply before continuing on. “So, it is not as if I served under common riff-raff, but a Knight in service to his sworn lord,” he stopped, blinked, and then hastily added, “and a Squire as well, of course.”
The Painting (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 2) Page 6