Tyndal looked around. “It might be more to these folk,” he said, quietly.
“In truth,” nodded Sire Cei, gravely. “They will be the ones to suffer most while their lords argue. Thus should every good lord understand the gravity with which he makes war. It is the curse of our time that rash words and bellicose attitudes lead to suffering and devastation of the innocent.”
“So how would you handle such a neighbor? If someone was encroaching on your domain like that?”
Sire Cei considered. “In this case, I would challenge the man to single combat. As a knight banneret, leading other knights by example, he would be honor-bound to answer such a challenge under most situations. If a man is willing to put an army in the field to achieve his objectives, he should be willing to face danger himself. And that would force him to choose his course.
“But I am not the lord of this land, and this is not my fight. My duty is to my liege. Now that I understand the situation better, I should report back to him of what I have found.”
Rondal groaned. “So we’re headed back to Chepstan Castle?”
“Nay,” Sire Cei said with a small grin. “I shall return to Chepstan. You, gentlemen, I gift with a commission yourselves. As part of your errantry, I ask that you attempt to collect a debt on my behalf. Or, on behalf of my domain, I should say.”
“Is chivalry to be used in such a manner?” Tyndal asked, nostrils flaring. “I thought lawbrothers and paid collectors did such work?”
“And should the matter descend to that,” agreed Sire Cei, “then those will be the avenues of approach I shall take. But the situation is thus: long before I won Cargwenyn, the estate has several outstanding payments for honey and wax which were made in good faith but, alas, have not been paid by other estates.
“Before I became its lord, Cargwenyn had to depend on the good faith of those estates, and Lady Estret did what she could to collect through messages and letters requesting payment. Since I have come into power, many of those have suddenly been paid. It is one thing when your creditor is a sweet noblewoman. It is another when it is a man who is called Dragonslayer.” Both boys laughed at that, appreciating the humor.
“But there are two estates with large balances that have resisted Lady Estret’s best efforts to collect. As it happens, both lie nearby: the estates of Ramoth’s Wood and Lufhorn Manor, which lie in the next domain south, Durandor.”
“So you want us to go shake down these debtors?” Rondal asked.
“I would put it more delicately,” Sire Cei said. “I wish for you two gentlemen to merely pay a call to the estates, speak with their castellans or reeves, and remind them of their debt and the honor of paying it promptly and in full. If you find extenuating circumstances, then I trust you to contend with them chivalrously.
“And you needn’t hold the folk at swordpoint – we are not bandits. But a personal visit from my representatives – especially two such formidable young knights – could speed payment. And while I am not suffering,” he smiled – he was well-paid by their master for his service as Sevendor’s castellan – “I find such outstanding balances . . . untidy. Note I would be open to trade, as much as coin. I just wish these matters to be gone from my accounts.”
“It still seems . . . un-knightly,” grumbled Tyndal. Knights were supposed to be fighting or dancing or off being brave against unfair odds, or such. Acting as a collection agent just didn’t seem to fit the vocation.
“Faithfully executing the instructions of your liege in the running of his estate is honorable service,” Sire Cei disagreed. “Nothing could be more chivalrous than a knight performing his duty. Remember, we are not merely military officers, we hold a social rank as well – and most aspire to commercial success to the extent that we can perform our duties and support our horses and arms properly. Being openhanded and generous is a sign of grace in a gentleman. Allowing his estate to be cheated out of fairly-owed debt is not chivalrous, it is a sign of weakness.”
“But would you have us draw swords over a fifty-weight of honey?” Rondal asked in disbelief.
“You need not draw swords at all,” Sire Cei explained. “Just . . . appear. Introduce yourselves as emissaries of the House of Cargwenyn, and bring to their attention the debt. Somehow I doubt they are willing to draw swords over fifty-weight of honey either, but . . . in truth, I know not the names or characters of the debtors in the slightest, merely the names and amounts and dates of their purchases and deliveries.” He stood, after handing a sheet of parchment to Rondal containing the specifics of the accounts. “Is that within your capabilities gentlemen?” he challenged.
“Of course, Sire Cei,” Tyndal said, rising and bowing. Rondal followed suit. “It would be our honor to hound your debtors.”
“And we shall endeavor to be a credit to your estate,” added Rondal. “Of course . . . we know not the way, nor do we have the resources to make an extended journey . . .”
“Ah,” Sire Cei said, philosophically, “life is replete with such challenges, and the brave errant accepts them gladly. You have been given your charge, gentlemen. I look forward to hearing of your adventures in a week’s time, in my hall at Cargwenyn. But do not tarry – I know your master has a much more important errand on your horizon, and I would not have you be late.”
“So . . . you want us to go forth without a penny?”
“Of course not,” Sire Cei said, tossing a small – a very small – purse on the table. “There must be at least nine, ten copper pennies in there, and perhaps a few silver as well. I trust in your ability to use it wisely, or add to it as you see fit.”
“A pouch of copper?” Tyndal asked in disbelief. “We—”
“—gratefully accept your assistance and will be steadfast in completing our commission, Sire Cei,” Rondal finished smoothly, after quietly kicking Tyndal enough to interrupt him.
Sire Cei nodded. “Good luck, then, gentlemen.” And without another word he left.
“Why in four hells did you do that?” complained Tyndal. Not that the kick had hurt, but he resented being interrupted like that.
“For your own good, idiot,” Rondal murmured as they watched the Dragonslayer leave. “I learned back at the Mysteries that complaints about resources usually led to a reduction in resources. He gave us all he was going to give us. That’s part of the exercise.”
“It sounds more like an excuse to get some free service done on his behalf.”
“Now you’re starting to understand the glorious subtleties of feudalism,” Rondal said, sarcastically, motioning to the barman for two more pints. “And I have considerably more than that in my pouch, if we need it.”
Tyndal remembered he, too, had a half-dozen silver pennies in his pocket, the remains of what Master Minalan had given them . . . but he still kind of resented being used like a common bill collector. Rondal clearly saw his discomfort. “This is a test, Sir Haystack. It matters less if we actually secure payment and more how we conduct ourselves. We’ve just been handed our first solo errand.”
“But . . . there are two of us,” Tyndal pointed out.
Rondal looked at him like he was an idiot. “Oh,” Tyndal realized. “I see what you are saying. First errand without . . . adult supervision.”
“Right,” Rondal agreed as the barman brought two more rounds. “And it’s a simple task. Like . . . building a bridge was,” he groaned. “But it’s one that’s unlikely to result in bloodshed. Sure, we won’t be staying at the finest inns, but this is rural Sendaria – there aren’t any fine inns. And that other place is in rural Sashtalia. So we’re going to be begging room and board from manors the whole way. That’s what this is about. Errantry.”
Tyndal sipped his ale and thought about what his fellow apprentice said. Sometimes he felt utterly intimidated by Rondal’s keen insights and quick wits. Tyndal wasn’t stupid, not by any measure. But sometimes it took him longer to recognize important details and realize what seemed to spring to Rondal’s mind naturally. It was easily one
of Rondal’s more annoying traits.
“All right,” he said with a sigh. “We’ll go do this trial - I suppose a little light errantry is good practice. Besides,” he said, cagily, “just about all of those manors have dewy-eyed maidens who like the look of a brave young knight. And I do so enjoy meeting new people,” he decided.
“That’s . . . whatever keeps you motivated,” Rondal said, sighing with resignation. Tyndal watched the young woman and her two older companions get up, pay the shot, and leave, making the room a bit quieter if less fair. He watched her go and saw her glance over her shoulder at him. He smiled, she blushed, she left.
It felt odd taking their ease in the afternoon with a pint without a lesson, lecture, or exercise threatening them, he realized. He forced himself to relax. This was the first time in a long time that he’d been left to his own devices, more or less - only now he was saddled with Rondal, who was sure to keep this outing from being as much fun as it could be.
That wasn’t completely fair, he chided himself. Rondal had come a long way in a short time, and was far from the insufferable snot he’d been last year. Tyndal looked over to his fellow apprentice and noted that he wasn’t even the scrawny bookworm he’d been at Yule. The Mysteries and the grace of the gods had filled out Rondal impressively. He was still of smaller stature than Tyndal, but his shoulders and arms seemed to have doubled in size, and instead of being hesitant when he walked he strode with confidence now. Unless there was a girl around.
Rondal realized he was being stared at. “So what do you think about all of this chivalry stuff?” Tyndal asked, a little awkwardly, to deflect the attention.
“How do you mean?” Rondal replied cautiously, as they finished their ales and left money on the table. Whichever direction they were headed, if they did not get on the road soon it would be dark before they got there.
“I mean . . . it has some benefits, I can see, but . . . does it have to be this demanding?”
“Well, every profession has it’s tough parts,” Rondal said as he untied his mount.
“I feel as if I’ve been put through a millwork,” Tyndal admitted to his rival, despite himself, as they mounted their horses. “Inarion, Relan Cor, now this errantry . . . forget the metaphors, I really do feel like I’ve been beaten betwixt hammer and anvil!”
“Me, too,” agreed Rondal as he turned his horse southward. “And you didn’t have to endure the Mysteries. But why the sudden concern? I thought you liked being a knight?”
Tyndal watched the young maiden and her two escorts start down the road in a light carriage pulled by a pair of rouncies. She barely acknowledged him as she rode by. Tyndal tried to imagine a different outcome of their chanced meeting, one in which she was desperate for one last moment of passion before she was cloistered in whichever abbey or temple she was destined for. It was a pleasant distraction to the talk of hammers and anvils.
“Since Yule, there haven’t been many days that weren’t crammed full of learning something vitally important about which our fate and perhaps all of Callidore’s might someday depend. I know we’re lucky to be where we are, but Ishi’s itching twat, I feel like I’ve been pushed around and told what to do for so long . . . well, I guess II was just wondering if I was just feeling sorry for myself, or if the gods do seem to be kicking our arses daily.”
“I . . . I’d favor the divine in that debate,” Rondal agreed with a sigh. He still rode like a sack of meal, despite some improvement. “Ever since . . . well, Yule, but especially ever since Inarion, I’ve felt like my life was one long tragically comedic epic.”
“Like being sent home through country you’ve never heard of without a guide, on a mission of vague importance, and being judged by Duin-only-knows what standards by our masters?” Tyndal snorted. “The tale would be worth a drink, at any rate. But I was asking, I suppose, what do you think of all of this . . . knights magi business?”
“You’re reconsidering your profession?” asked Rondal, surprised. “Seems a little late for that now.”
“No, no,” Tyndal said with another snort. “I’ve got ambition, and the gods have given me a worthy path. But . . . all of these rules. All of these expectations . . . about a job no one has really had before.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Rondal said with a shrug. “They can’t really say we’re fouling it up, without anyone to compare us to.”
“And yet . . . I get the distinct impression that we’re just on this side of utter failure,” Tyndal pointed out. “If we’re the first, or among the first, shouldn’t we get a say in just what a knight mage is? What he does? What he doesn’t do?”
“If you are attempting to institutionalize your way out of guard duty and other shit work, Ifnia’s luck be with you,” Rondal chuckled. “Not that I’m unsympathetic, mind you, but I don’t see a way for us to avoid it.”
“Well, at least this part isn’t so bad,” Tyndal admitted, as they rode out of the village along the southern road. “But all of that other stuff . . . the social obligations, the legal obligations, the arcane obligations, and all of it wrapped up with chivalry, which has precious little to do with magic. The magelords of old didn’t have to contend with chivalry.”
“And see what happened to them? Really, I thought you of all people would be eager to don the mantle of chivalry,” Rondal said, surprised. “Most days you can’t be pried out of the practice yard.”
“If it was just fighting and swordplay, I’d be fine – better, perhaps. But everything else . . . well, it makes me wonder how knights have any fun.”
“Are we supposed to have fun?” Rondal countered.
“I damn sure am,” Tyndal said, sullenly. “I’m due some fun. Without someone looking over my shoulder.” He looked at Rondal warily.
“Why are you looking at me?” snorted the other apprentice. “I’m not your bloody warden! Go bugger virgin goats, if you’d like. I’ll refrain from judgment,” he said, unconvincingly.
Tyndal snorted back. “What? You’d really not tell Master Min or Sire Cei if I, ah, took some creative liberties with their carefully laid plans?”
“You’re your own idiot,” Rondal assured him. Then he paused a moment. “Why? What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing felonious,” Tyndal assured him. “I think. I hadn’t any particular crime in mind. I’m just proposing that we be open to adventure.”
Rondal shrugged, which surprised Tyndal. “Isn’t that the nature of errantry, supposedly? So you just want to follow the road and see what kind of trouble you can get into?”
“We can get into,” Tyndal reminded him. “And I’m not saying we ignore our errand. Merely that we enjoy it as much as we can. If that means risking a little trouble . . .”
“I just said I wouldn’t tell and I wouldn’t judge,” Rondal said, quickly. “By all means, do what you please. I’m sure it will be instructive to watch. But . . . well, don’t expect me to hold the down the goat while you do it.”
* * *
As fortune favored them they had little in the way of adventure for the rest of that day as they rode south. They came to a prosperous manor late in the day and – for the first time – traded on their knighthood for a night of room and board.
Despite Tyndal’s dreams of luxury, the matron of the manor asked that he split some wood for the fire, as her servant had injured his shoulder. Rondal was tasked with bringing in water from the well. Dinner was adequate, a hot stew of beans and chicken served on day-old trenchers. There was no cheese with their meal, but some butter that was not quite yet rancid.
At supper, they shared a table with the cream of the manor’s ladyhood. None were younger than thirty, and all seemed to have the sort of face that Sire Cei graciously called “unfortunate.”
So where are the dewy-eyed maidens? Rondal teased his fellow apprentice.
I think they must be in the stew, grumbled Tyndal. I’d figure there would be at least a maid or two about. This lot looks like a crone’s wake.
; The next morning they thanked their hostess, received a stirrup cup after praising her hospitality, and accepted a modest lunch for the road. Biscuits and the leftover stew from the night before.
“So where is this first manor we’re to find?” Tyndal asked, as they discovered the fare was better after a night’s rest. “Ramoth’s Wood?”
“From what I understand, it is one of the estates belonging to the lord of Lormyr,” Rondal supplied. “Which you would know if you had listened to half of what our hostess said at dinner last night.”
“I was paying attention,” protested Tyndal, annoyed. Rondal seemed to pick the most inane things to reprove him over “I didn’t ask who owned it, I asked where to find it.”
“Oh,” Rondal said, taken aback. “It should be down this road, then west at the next crossroad. That will take us into Lormyr, and Ramoth’s Wood should be on the east side of the road. From what Sire Cei told me, the tenant lord is Sir Gamman the Red.”
“That . . . is a foreboding sounding name,” admitted Tyndal. “So . . . any points of interest between here and Lormyr?”
“I think there’s an inn at the next village,” Ron answered. “But we really should—”
“Be pursuing an errant’s life of adventure?” Tyndal interrupted. “I couldn’t agree more. All of this study . . . training . . . practice . . . don’t you want to use some of that great store of knowledge in the field?” he teased.
Rondal looked uncomfortable – a common expression on the boy’s face – but shrugged. “I suppose,” he admitted. “But . . . I don’t want any trouble.”
“That’s your problem,” Tyndal said, shaking his head sadly, “you never want any trouble.”
“Trouble gets people killed,” Rondal pointed out. “And imprisoned. And fined. And captured. And—”
“And experienced,” he soothed. “That’s why Sire Cei sent us out here. Seasoning.”
Knights Magi (Book 4) Page 33