Randall felt his heart skip a beat as he looked at the massive creature, which pawed the ground absently and snorted sharp, hot blasts of breath into the dirt. He had never seen such a magnificent horse—aside from Ser Cavulus’—but where the White Knight’s horse was broad and powerfully built, this black horse was long, tall, and had lines that seemed to yearn for a painter’s brush to immortalize on canvas.
“I don’t know what to say,” Randall said after a lengthy pause, his mouth still gaping. “Thank you, Citizen.” Drannis snorted and shot Randall a cold look, and he quickly realized his gaffe in using a Federation honorific. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I’m just used to dealing with the Federation lately. It’s a force of habit.”
The towering man looked down at him for a moment before thrusting the reins into Randall’s hands. “I’m afraid the saddle was designed for an armored man in battle and not so much for comfort,” he explained, “but I’ll help you up if you like.”
Having only ever ridden ornery old nags around to exercise them as a boy, Randall knew he had no business riding on a trained warhorse—even one that was ‘long in the tooth’—but he had to admit that the chance to ride a real, live warhorse was just too good an opportunity to pass up.
Drannis made his hands into a stirrup, which Randall used to pop up into the saddle. The stirrups had clearly been adjusted well shorter than they had been designed for, with a pair of knots in each to bring them high enough to do Randall any good.
Sitting astride the massive animal, Randall literally had his breath taken away as he wondered if the thing would buck him off sometime in the first few seconds. Thankfully nothing of the sort happened, but the horse did snort and flip its head from side to side and Randall could feel the awesome power of the animal beneath him. That realization made him cling even more tightly to it as he gripped the left-hand horn of the saddle.
“His name’s Storm Chaser,” Drannis said, slapping the massive beast on its neck, “and he will serve you well with the proper care. He’s freshly shod, so barring incident he’ll carry you wherever you need before requiring a farrier’s attention.”
Randall let his fingers slip forward to touch the hard, lean shoulder of the warhorse and shook his head in wonderment.
“Thou acts as if thou hast never sat a horse before,” Randall heard Ravilich say from behind and he swiveled in the massive saddle to see the Squire sitting on his own mount, which was medium brown with a black mane and tail.
“Never one so fine,” Randall retorted smoothly before turning to Drannis and tilting his head awkwardly. “Thank you for such a magnificent gift.”
Drannis took one last, contemplative look at the horse and nodded, “He was never meant for a farm…whatever lies ahead of you is better for him than that which awaits him here.” He tore his eyes from the horse and turned to Ser Cavulus, “We shall speak often and loudly of your good deeds, Ser Knight. These lands owe you more than you know.”
The White Knight nodded respectfully. “We each do as we are meant,” he said with a sharp salute, “I hope our paths cross again, Mister Drannis.”
Drannis nodded, and Randall saw Ser Cavulus wave to the children assembled beside the barn. The children returned his gesture and then the White Knight set out at the head of the small group, which consisted of the three mounted riders, one wagon drawn by a pair of horses, and three more horses tied to the rear of the wagon.
Eckol and Drexil were sitting atop the wagon with Drexil holding the reins. Eckol worked with some sort of file in his lap, sharpening the head of the huge axe.
Randall turned and followed, and they set out to the northeast. For the first time since leaving Three Rivers, Randall had a glimmer of hope that he just might be able to leave the Federation far behind. He felt himself swell with that hope as the sunlight streamed down through the clouds above.
Four hours later and Randall’s backside was absolutely killing him. Not only was his rump aching, but his lower back seemed like it was being stabbed by a dozen, sharp sticks as he was quite certain his spine was well out of alignment.
But he gritted his teeth and did his best to keep a straight face and just as the sun reached its maximum intensity for the day, he heard Ravilich ride up beside him.
“I hope thou dost like yellowberries,” the Squire said, offering a small sack with what looked to be a whole meal’s worth of the fruit inside. “We have enough for the coming weeks, but I doubt they shall go unspoiled for so long.”
Randall accepted the bundle of berries with a gracious nod, catching himself as he winced as a bolt of pain shot down his leg. Grimacing, he took a few of the berries and placed them in his mouth. He was surprised at how sweet they were, which either meant they were exceptionally good or that they were already ripe, and Ravilich’s assessment of their shelf-life had been correct.
“Hast thou not ridden in some time, Baron?” the Squire asked more than a little facetiously and Randall shot him a look.
But seeing no malice in the other man’s eyes, he sighed. “I’m not a Baron,” Randall said a bit too defensively, “you know that.”
The Squire shrugged, “Aye, that I do.”
“Then why do you continue to call me one?” he asked, more than a little embarrassed at having declared himself to be nobility when nothing could have been further from the truth.
Ravilich gestured to the White Knight, who was riding ahead a good hundred paces. “Because Ser Cavulus will deal with the issue of thy perfidy in time,” he replied.
“It wasn’t a lie,” Randall said hotly.
“No?” the Squire asked with feigned disbelief. “Then what wouldst thou call it?”
“It was…” Randall began, but after a few seconds he relented, “ok, so it was a lie. But I was just trying to save those people.”
“That much is clear,” Ravilich allowed, “however, that does not mean thy heart is pure.”
Randall shook his head as he felt his horse’s tail swish up and brush against his back. “I’ve never claimed to have a pure heart,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “never once in my life would I have made that claim.”
The Squire smirked and suppressed a laugh. “Thou art unusually frank, whatever thy name is,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I can see why…” he trailed off before his features hardened.
“What?” Randall asked, genuinely curious what the man was about to say next.
But Ravilich shook his head. “Tis not my place to say,” he said. “But if thou art to remain in our company then there are certain truths which thou must learn.”
“I’m actually surprised I’m in your company at all,” Randall admitted. “I don’t see what possible use I might be to a knight with an armorer, a Squire,” he turned slightly to see Drexil, “and whatever his job is.”
“Drexil?” Ravilich asked in mild surprise. “Drexil is a fine warrior in his own right, but in the company of the White Knight such abilities become…minimized. No, it is his ability to canvas—both for information and for supplies—which has seen the greatest use during these past months.”
“Still,” Randall pressed, “I really don’t see what I have to offer your group?”
The Squire’s face was once again an unreadable mask as he replied, “Thus, the truths which I mentioned previously.”
They rode together for several minutes before Randall finally asked, “Which are?”
“Firstly,” Ravilich said crisply, “Ser Cavulus has no Squire; I am Squire to the White Blade, Rimidalv the Incorruptible.”
Randall did a literal double-take as he replayed the Squire’s statement in his mind. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said after a lengthy pause.
“I do not expect thee to,” Ravilich said coldly, “I merely expect thee to know and remember it…for now.”
“Ok…” Randall replied uneasily. “What else?”
“Secondly,” the Squire continued, “the White Knight alone has requested thy presence. So wh
ilst we may be allies for a time, do not mistake thy acceptance into the ranks of this group as evidence of some deeper bond. I serve Rimidalv, who in turn serves the Light. As long as thy presence doth not interfere with our purpose, I have been instructed by the White Blade to allow thee to do as thou would…and not to interfere.”
“Wait,” Randall held up a hand haltingly, “the ‘White Blade’ instructed you?”
“Third,” Ravilich continued, pointedly ignoring Randall’s query, “while the road to Greystone is a long one, I have little desire to spend my free time conversing with thee. Consider this our final conversation, as I must see to my own duties.”
Randall was more than a little surprised at the normally good-natured Squire’s sudden change in attitude, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Have I done something to offend you?” he asked as politely as he could manage with anger boiling up inside his gut.
“Nay,” Ravilich replied tersely before taking a breath and shaking his head remorsefully, “tis not for what thou hast already done…but for what thou will yet do.”
With that, the Squire turned his horse and resumed his place at the back of the small formation. Randall saw looks of curiosity on both Eckol’s and Drexil’s faces, but they did not pursue the matter.
Randall rode the rest of the day in silence, with the taste of the yellowberries turning bitter in his mouth until he was no longer hungry.
Chapter XVIII: Hearts to Hearts
Evening, 4-13-5-659
They made camp that night, and Randall was more than a little surprised to see an entire tent folded up into the undercarriage of their wagon. He was even more surprised when they didn’t erect the structure, opting instead to sit out beneath the open sky even while clouds rolled overhead.
Drexil and Ravilich had already set about the task of preparing dinner on the wagon prior to stopping, and it was fairly clear they didn’t want any help. Feeling more than a little outcast, Randall dismounted from his horse as gingerly as he could manage. This elicited a series of chuckles and murmured jokes which passed between Drexil and the Squire, but Randall ignored them as he stretched his aching back. He suspected he would not find peaceful sleep that night, but he took Storm Chaser over to the wagon and did his best to tie him there before heading off into the fading light to make water.
When he had finished he turned around to see Ser Cavulus standing beside Storm Chaser. Randall approached the two with as much dignity as he could manage while feeling like his legs and back were actively lobbying to secede from the tentative union that was the rest of his body.
“Thou hast a fine steed,” the White Knight said, stroking the huge animal’s neck with his white steel gauntlets. “It is a just reward for thy valorous actions.”
“I’ve never had anything like it,” Randall admitted, until he realized that the sword he had been given by the mysterious ‘T’ person was almost certainly its better in every way. Still, he didn’t feel like he owned the sword for a variety of reasons, but he knew he could learn to believe that the horse was, at least in a practical sense, his.
“And thou shalt prove worthy of him for as long as thou doth truly feel so,” the White Knight replied, and Randall was more than slightly impressed at the knight’s apparent ability to sense his thoughts. “Wouldst thou care for a perambulation of the camp prior to bedding down?”
“Of course,” Randall replied, knowing that the moment had finally arrived. He knew that one way or another, the truth was going to come out and then it would be up to Ser Cavulus to decide his fate. Still, Randall knew there were worse ways of determining such than at the hands of an honest-to-gods White Knight.
They walked at least a hundred paces from the campfire before Ser Cavulus turned and began to circumnavigate an invisible boundary of that distance from the camp. After a few minutes the White Knight stopped, causing Randall to do likewise. Cavulus placed a hand on the massive sword strapped to his back and spoke, “I would ask questions of thee now, and thou would do well to answer with the utmost veracity…regardless of how thou might predict my response.”
Randall felt the urge to grip his own sword, but he knew that to do so would only prove futile. His sword hadn’t spoken to him in two days and he felt no numbness in his scalp, so he forced himself to relax and nod, “Alright.”
“What is thy name?” Ser Cavulus asked, and Randall felt a tingling sensation running up and down his spine.
“My name is Randall,” he replied, bracing himself and wondering if the White Knight was employing the same type of magic the Senatorial Guards had employed during his ‘interrogation’ at The Last Coin. After a few seconds he realized it was nothing like that experience, and that he still had full control of his senses.
“I thank thee,” the White Knight said, and Randall saw the knight’s armored fist relax slightly on the hilt of the White Blade. “From whence dost thou hail?”
Randall hesitated for a moment, but he felt more comfortable in the White Knight’s presence than he had expected to at that moment. “I was born in Three Rivers, and I left only a month ago.”
Ser Cavulus nodded, and Randall could see his grip relax even further, to the point where his mailed fingers were barely touching the blade. “Why didst thou flee; and why dost thou disguise thyself thus?”
Randall felt his stomach flutter immediately as the question he had dreaded every second of every day since leaving Three Rivers was finally put to him. But he stuck his chin out and gathered his wits before replying. “I’d had enough of life under the Federation’s boot,” he said defiantly. If he was going to die, then it would be with the truth on his lips. “The way they treat my kind is disgraceful, demeaning and deplorable. My friends were rounded up just for trying to watch some floats come down the river, like they do every year,” he continued, his voice rising as he felt a dam break somewhere within himself. “One morning, on my way back from the fish market, I was walking along the main street and minding my own business. Do you want to know what happened? I took a vicious beating by a man dressed not so differently than you,” he pointed a finger angrily at the White Knight, “and sounding as though you could be twins! Not long after that, a man dressed not so differently than I am dressed right now came and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. You know what they did to him?” he demanded, his breaths coming hot and heavy.
“Nay, I do not,” Ser Cavulus replied, his voice sounding cold and uncaring to Randall’s ears.
“Well, let me tell you,” he spat, feeling his emotions getting the better of him but unable to stem the tide, “three Senatorial Guards killed him in the street, probably to get this.” He drew the sword from its scabbard and saw it reflect the fading light of The Wanderer, as that moon continued its incalculable path across the heavens. “He was killed for this, but I didn’t even know that when it happened! After being interrogated,” Randall spat the word like it was a curse, and he felt tears brimming in his eyes, “by another guardsman dressed just like you, I decided that was it—I’d had enough! I took my meager life’s savings in hand, spent most of it to help get my friends out of the stinking slums before I left and imagine my surprise at finding this thing stuck beneath my bed!” he shook the sword emphatically.
There was a long, tense silence which hung between them, until Ser Cavulus prompted, “Go on.”
“Go on?!” Randall shouted. “It must be nice to be you, what with the way the world just bends over backward for your kind!” He stood there seething angrily at the man’s presumption, but after a few deep breaths he continued icily, “Well, I did get my friends out of the gutter—just like I wanted to. And we were on our way to their new home to enjoy one last meal together, and guess what? I get accused of murdering a woman I knew for exactly one night,” he held up a finger of his left hand and felt the wounded palm there flash with pain, but he didn’t care. “And not only that, but my friends get assaulted because they’re with me, and that bastard of a commander tries to castrate me in the alleyway. O
h, sure, he promised I wouldn’t have to suffer for too long since I was headed straight to the gallows the next morning! But would you like to know the real kicker?” he flared. “She committed suicide!”
“Who committed suicide?” Ser Cavulus asked tensely.
“Shannon Vanteus, the Corporal I spent the night with,” he snapped, as though it should have been obvious. “Her commander was more interested in preserving her false honor than he was with the three of our lives—let alone our dignity! So I ran; like a coward, I ran. And now here I am, facing my judgment regardless of my flight. I only killed one of those men,” he seethed, “but if I was a stronger person I would have gladly killed all four of them with my bare hands before allowing them to rape and murder my friends!”
His scalp was tingling by the time he finished, but Randall honestly couldn’t tell if it was from his angry tirade or if it was from his danger sense.
The White Knight relaxed and let his hands fall to his sides. “Thou hast done as I asked,” he said evenly, “and for that, I thank thee.”
“So what happens now?” Randall demanded. “Are you going to pass judgment on me? If so, I’d just as soon get it over with. I’m not sorry for my part in any of it, and if I find myself in the same situation I’d lay good odds on an even more violent outcome!”
Ser Cavulus shook his head adamantly. “It is not my place to do so, but know that thou hast indeed been judged in this place. Whilst thy heart is far from pure, thou art nevertheless a good person who did that which was left to him by protecting thy friends, which is itself a noble deed. I hope that during this journey we can help each other to cleanse the sins of our hearts…if not those of our bodies.” Ser Cavulus made to leave but stopped and turned back toward Randall, regarding him for a moment. “Thy disguise will no longer be necessary in our company; the place where we go has proved a haven to many generations of star children. There, thou might be proud of thy heritage.”
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 22