Friends of the Crown - Book 1 of Heroes of the Realm

by Scott Van der Haeghen

  Chapter 4 - Newellen

  The next morning they discovered that their prisoner not only had tried to escape but had gotten as far as getting his legs loose, but had not been able to free his hands. He had succeeded in causing the bandage on his arm to loosen and his wound had begun to bleed once again.

  Nev bound the cut with a fresh piece of cloth and they fed him some strong tea and bread to regain his strength. Fletcher was weaker, but was still able to travel, they considered allowing him to ride but felt it was still too great a risk. The trio walked the road to Newellen for only two hours at a time to allow the little man to rest. As it was, they didn't lose as much time as they had thought. A full hour before sundown, the three travelers rounded a bend in the road and the city came into view.

  Neither young man had ever seen a city before and marveled at the sight. A wall, over twelve feet in height, ran from the gate where the road led, to a point nearly a half mile away, where the wall turned and ran along another edge of the city. The wall was nearly vertical, being slightly wider at the base than the top, and was broken at regular intervals by wooden towers where guards could be seen watching both inside and outside the wall. The gate itself was a sizable opening with a massive wooden door reinforced by long iron strips fastened to the wood with huge spikes, giving the door an imposing appearance. The gray granite of the wall was very smooth, but with chips and gouges here and there showing it had been battered in its past by battles and skirmishes.

  "By the Creator, Brey! Look at it!" exclaimed Nev breathlessly.

  Fletcher looked at Nev with surprise. "Haven't you ever been to this pile of rocks before?"

  "We have never been to a city before." replied Brey smiling. "It's wonderful!"

  The robber looked from one to the other. "What? Are you two fresh from the farm or something?" The young men just nodded, unable to take their eyes from the city before them.

  Fletcher was thoroughly disgusted. Not only had he been bested by a couple of teenagers, but bumpkins, new to the world! He hoped none of the others in the prison in which he would undoubtedly be placed found out about this; he would never live it down. He shook his head slowly in disgust and said, "Let's go then and get it over with. At least the constable's men may be able to find a surgeon to fix my arm up right."

  The three men walked the remaining mile, Nev and Brey trading exclamations about the city before them. They tried to ask Fletcher questions about the city but his answers were crude, short, and not very informative.

  As they approached the main gate, a uniformed man atop the gatehouse called for them to halt and wait there on the road. In a few moments, the older man came ambling out of the gate toward them. When he was about twenty feet away, he stopped and burst out laughing. Fletcher looked at the man and swore, assuming a posture of absolute defeat.

  "Well, well, well!" boomed the deep voice of the gate guard, as he walked the remaining distance to the group. "Look who has returned to our fair city; and in defeat at that!" The man laughed again, long and loud. He appeared to be about fifty or sixty years of age and was quite round about his middle.

  "Stuff it, Bergen!" was all Fletcher would say.

  Nev looked quizzically at the guard. "Do you know him?" he asked.

  "Indeed I do. Fletcher the Fierce here has been a very busy fellow in these parts for the last year and some." replied the guard. "So much so, he has even acquired a price to go on that greasy head of his."

  At this Fletcher's head snapped up. "What?"

  "It seems you made quite an impression on a certain young pair a few months back; though I am sure had you known they were the niece and nephew of the Governor, you would have let them pass unmolested, wouldn't you, Fletcher?" asked the guard, who leaned forward in a menacing fashion. "Instead you saw fit to not only rob them, but send them back along the road in their undergarments riding bareback!"

  "At the time, it seemed rather funny." said the little robber with a slight smile.

  Quick as a flash, the guard's hand shot out and slapped the prisoner on the side of his head, sending him reeling, nearly falling down. "You should know the price on your head states dead or alive. Your tongue will help me decide which it will be." growled the guard menacingly. Fletcher just groaned holding the side of his head.

  He put his fists on his hips and turned to the young men. "Now," asked Bergen "who might you two be?"

  "I am Aubrey Cousins of Carsby and this is my friend Neville Morton, also of Carsby, sir." replied Brey respectfully and a little fearfully.

  He looked carefully at them and assumed an expression of mild disbelief. "Am I to believe you two have not only faced down Fletcher, but captured him?!" He laughed patronizingly and continued. "All right then, now tell me, who captured our little friend here? Is he somewhat behind you?" he finished, looking back down the road they had just walked.

  Nev found the guard's skepticism infuriating, insinuating they could not have taken down a slimy little thief like Fletcher on their own. "Here now! We fought and beat him fair and square." declared Nev boldly, stepping forward without thinking. "I could have taken him myself if I hadn't lost my focus and Brey could handle him easily enough anytime he wished. Even Barlow, our teacher, would say so!"

  The guard had moved his weathered hand toward his sword when Nev had stepped forward, but stopped and looked at Nev and Brey with a rather strange expression after Nev finished his proclamation. "Your swordmaster's name is Barlow?" he asked. "'Bout seventy or so, white beard and still fit as a fiddle for his age? Has a little scar just below his left eye?"

  Brey and Nev were both taken aback at the man's question. Neither was quite sure how to react, given that they had promised Barlow never to reveal his secret.

  Brey placed a hand on Nev's shoulder to keep him from saying anything just yet. "That might sound a bit like him. Do you know him, Sergeant?"

  Sergeant Bergen rocked back on his heals and scratched his chin, clearly deciding what he should think of these two. "Seems to me when I first joined the army, I had a Sergeant name of Barlow. Not only a top-notch soldier, but also probably the best sword arm the kingdom had ever known. Went on to make a bit of a name for himself and then retired." He eyed the young men closely as he spoke. "Would you happen to know the man I speak of?"

  It was clear to both Brey and his friend that the Sergeant was trying to say he knew Barlow Braydon and would be willing to keep his secret.

  Nev spoke up first. "Yes, Sergeant, that sounds like the man. He is indeed still a mighty swordsman and a very good teacher."

  The man visibly relaxed and chuckled in a manner strangely like Barlow's. "He always was, boys, he always was." he said with a wink.

  The Sergeant called, "Corporal Mayhew! Bring your carcass front and center!"

  Shortly, a slender young man, barley older then Brey and Nev themselves came rushing into view. He ran full sprint toward the group and skidded to a halt to stand at attention before Bergen and saluted in army fashion, striking his breastplate with his right hand. "Yes, Sergeant!" he shouted in a strident voice.

  "Take the prisoner to the stockade; and send for a surgeon, though there's no particular rush for it." instructed the Sergeant.

  "No rush?" cried Fletcher, "I've been stuck good and well here! I need a doctor!"

  "Fletcher, considering who taught these young men their swordplay, I would say you are lucky to be alive." growled Bergen. "Take him away, Corporal."

  "Yes, sir!" cried the enthusiastic youth who turned his quarry toward the gate and began marching him along with a sword point in his back for emphasis.

  "Well now, lads." said Sergeant Bergen. "What say we proceed to the guard house to discuss your teacher and the reward for capturing our notorious Fletcher the Fierce?" He waved an arm toward the gate of the city of Newellen and waited for them to go.

  "Um, Sergeant? You must know who our teacher is and you must also understand he doesn't want to be
found." said Brey.

  Bergen leaned over and whispered to the two young men. "Boys, I have known the whereabouts of Barlow Braydon since he retired. When folks come a lookin', I say 'Head north'. When they get there, they are sent east. Then south and west and so on." He chuckled quietly and winked. "Not even the great Braydon can disappear without a bit of help." He turned without looking back and starting walking toward the gate. The boys scrambled to pick up their packs and the horse’s bridle rope and hurried after him.

  The guardhouse was a plain but solid-looking building just inside the main gate of the city. The interior was austere; only a few chairs and a table occupied the orderly main room. At the back of the room was a door with words 'Officer of the Watch' written in well-formed letters.

  "Have a seat out here, lads." said the big sergeant. "I have to report to the lieutenant."

  He went to the door and knocked. "Come.", was the response. Bergen walked inside and closed the door behind him.

  "What do you suppose he will say to his lieutenant, Nev?" asked Brey as he set down the pack and sat down on the hard wooden chair.

  "Dunno. What's all this about a reward?" said Nev. "Would they really pay us just for bringing them a thief? I would think anyone who could the right thing, would do it." Brey just shrugged, too nervous to give the matter much thought.

  The young men sat fidgeting for several minutes until the door at the back opened and a tall man with a black mustache beckoned to them. "Would you please step inside, gentlemen?" he asked politely. "You may leave your packs where they are."

  They stood and walked through the door. Sergeant Bergen was standing to one side, apparently yet to be given leave to stand at ease. He stood ramrod straight and seemed a little nervous.

  "My name is Lieutenant Marsh. Sergeant Bergen here informs me you have brought in a wanted man. Is that correct?" he asked as he walked around the sturdy desk to sit in the chair behind it.

  "Yes, sir." they responded in unison.

  The lieutenant sat back and steepled his fingers before his face, studying the young men before him. "I am not unfamiliar with Mr. Fletcher; his exploits as well as his skill with a sword. As a former soldier, he is well-trained. I am told one of you was able to score a hit and disable him. Was this luck or skill?" He narrowed his eyes, looking intently at them. "Or perhaps someone else did the work and you hope to reap the reward for that labor?"

  Nev felt his anger rising at the man's patronizing tone, but checked himself in time, sensing this was not a man to trifle with.

  Before either could reply, the man continued. "As the reward for this man is considerable, I wish to make sure it is paid only to those who made his capture possible. More to the point, the man or men who incapacitated him, allowing him to be made a prisoner."

  "Well," began Brey, "I guess you could say we both did that, sir. When Fletcher leveled his sword at me and demanded our money and goods, Nev drew his sword and began fighting with him." He nervously cleared his throat and continued. "Well, Nev was distracted and was nearly run through, so I jumped in and fought him and was able to injure him." He opened him mouth as if to continue but closed it again, feeling his explanation was inadequate. By his reaction, Lieutenant Marsh thought so too.

  "I will be frank. I do not believe you have the skill to do this. Clearly, you are only recently released from some small village or farm; the kind of training required to best a trained soldier is not available to such people."

  Nev couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "Well, you are wrong. Brey is really good with a sword and he can prove it!"

  Brey stood with his mouth open, gaping at his companion's outburst. He looked from the lieutenant to Nev and back again. "S-sir, I am sorry for my friend's tongue-"

  He was silenced by the upraised hand of the, now angry officer. "You would do well to learn self-restraint, young man. It may even save your life someday." he said icily to Nev. "However, I will take you up on your offer of proof."

  Marsh turned to the Sergeant still standing at attention next to the desk. "Bring these two to the practice yard immediately. I would like to witness the amazing swordplay of this intrepid bumpkin." He finished with a mirthless laugh.

  "Yes sir." responded the sergeant with a note of resignation. He motioned to the young men to follow him out of the office. He led them back out the door to the street and around the side of the building to a fenced area behind.

  "You've stepped in it now, lads. He is not a man to accept that kind of tone or refuse such a challenge. For your sake I hope Barlow taught you as well as you say." he whispered. "He is likely to put you up against our best young blade, Winrow. He is fast as a snake and never makes a mistake." He snapped his eyes forward and continued to march them to the open practice area, as the tall officer came along behind them. The sandy ground was mainly level and perhaps thirty feet to a side. Its trampled surface was hard due to constant use by the soldiers training here. Along three of the four sides were benches where young trainees no doubt sat to receive their instruction before practicing their combat skills; in one corner was a large weapons locker.

  Bergen stopped the travelers by a bench to one side of the practice yard and told them to remove their cloaks and to hand over their swords. He took the swords and walked toward the weapons locker to put a cork end on each sword.

  "That won't be necessary, Sergeant Bergen. I am sure the young men are well versed enough to keep themselves and others from harm." said the officer with a snide tone of voice. "Corporal Winrow, come forward!"

  A solid looking young man came out of the barracks room near the back of the yard and came to attention, saluting smartly. "Yes, sir!"

  "There is to be a demonstration. I wish you to represent Her Majesty's Army." The lieutenant smiled and glanced sidelong at Nev and Brey. "It seems that one of these young men claims to have defeated an army-trained swordsman in fair combat. I wish to see if his homebred style is truly equal to Her Majesty's training."

  "Yes, sir!" yelled the young man. He moved to the weapons rack and retrieved a sword.

  "To your positions!" Marsh called.

  "Move to the middle of the ground, lad, but do not raise your sword until told to do so." instructed the old sergeant as he handed Brey's sword back to him. "Remember, battle is for the thinking man." he said, echoing the words he had heard from old Barlow many times.

  "Yes, sir." was all Brey could muster in response.

  He moved to the center of the ring of dirt and stood facing his opponent, his arm shaking slightly. Dusk was beginning to fall; poor light for such a 'demonstration'. Brey's mind was a jumbled mess, trying to recall everything Barlow had taught him. It was strange that he should do this now; he had jumped in and taken Fletcher without a thought except how best to get around or through his defense.

  "Don't force it, let your training take hold and your arm will do what it has been taught to do." Old Barlow had said over and over during the last weeks of training before the boys left Carsby. In that moment, Brey's mind just relaxed and he was no longer nervous. Battle is for the thinking man and his mind was now ready to think as a swordsman.

  "Salute!" yelled Marsh.

  Both Brey and the young soldier across from him raised their swords in salute. There was a moment of silence in which the two combatants' eyes met. Brey could see the other's hunger and determination.

  "Engage!"

  Winrow rushed Brey in an effort to overwhelm him and get a quick victory. Brey waited for him to close and then stepped aside without even engaging blades as the attacker went on by. Seeing his mistake in underestimating his opponent, Corporal Winrow assumed a more cautious approach.

  The two circled for moment, sizing each other up. Brey feinted high and attacked low with impressive speed, but as Bergen had warned, Winrow was very fast and blocked the attack with apparent ease. Our young hero had to reassess his plan of attack, seeing that his speed was not an adv
antage against this young soldier.

  Winrow began a series of short, quick attacks going from high to low and side to side. He pressed his slight advantage of speed and forced Brey back slowly. As the soldier pressed each series, Brey noted that his attacks were very much like the drills he and Nev were first taught. He watched and counted the steps and the strokes and in two more flurries, he was certain he could predict the next attack. He waited for the next series and found he was right, the young man executed exactly the strokes he thought it would be. Feeling it was time to reverse the tide of the battle, Brey waited for the next series to begin. When it came, he countered and attacked his opponent on the opposite side of his attacking strokes and used his surprise and speed to score a touch, being careful not to draw blood. He backed off to see if that satisfied the tall officer.

  "Score touch for Brey!" cried an excited Nev.

  Lieutenant Marsh scowled at Nev and called, "One touch to the bumpkin. Continue."

  Brey heard the step behind him and whirled in time to meet the blade coming right at him from behind. He parried quickly and danced to one side to regain his footing. Seeing that he still had something to prove to the lieutenant and also seeing that his opponent would have run him through in the exercise, Brey decided he must fight not only to defend his character but apparently his life. So be it. Brey's stance shifted slightly, no longer fighting to aim his strokes wide for the touch, he intended to score blood if he must.

  Nev, having known him all his life noted the shift. "Brey! No! It isn't worth spilling his blood over!" he cried to his friend. He tried to run into the circle but Bergen held him back.

  "It's worth your life to run into that lad. They will have to finish it as they must. If your friend was truly trained well, he will be able to end it without bloodshed. Or at least without much." he added dryly.

  Brey had been largely playing defense to this point, content to hold his own to prove his ability. Now it was time to put his skill to the test. His opponent was very fast and very good, but seemed to be able to use only the basic military skills he was taught and no more. Barlow had warned him and Nev not to use any of the unorthodox tricks he had taught them unless he had no choice. As far as he could tell, the time of choice was past. He could possibly continue to match the young soldier in the strict disciplines until they were both too tired to keep going, but he didn't wish to prolong this until he made a mistake and was injured as a result. He decided to try the simplest of the tricks he had been shown.

  When his opponent stopped circling for a moment, Brey made his move by attacking straight ahead in a pattern of two overhand strokes, one low stroke and then disengage. He repeated this twice, certain his opponent should anticipate it the third time. On the third attack, he changed pattern and went from the first overhand strike to a quick low lunge and back high again. As the soldier scrambled to compensate, he was caught overreaching his low block and Brey's sword lay against his neck before he could recover. The blade merely touched the man's throat and was pulled back, but the youth had scored a killing stroke on the soldier!

  Corporal Winrow stepped back, clearly shocked that he had been 'killed'. He felt his neck where the blade had touched and looked at his fingers to see if he was bleeding. Fortunately, Brey had made the touch lightly and didn't leave a scratch.

  Lieutenant Marsh was equally stunned. Winrow had never been beaten in a single combat exercise before. This 'bumpkin' was clearly a skilled swordsman. Where had a common village boy learned to fight like that?

  "Stand down!" ordered Lieutenant Marsh. He walked across the training ground toward Brey.

  "I see I must apologize for my earlier doubt, you are indeed well trained." he said with a slight bow of his head. "I have no choice but to believe you have fairly defeated the prisoner and are deserving of the reward offered for his capture."

  Marsh cast a withering look at Corporal Winrow and turned back toward the guardhouse. "Come with me, please." As he passed Sergeant Bergen he said, "See to it that the men are trained to deal with that kind of unorthodox attack. Clearly there is a need for a wider range of styles in our training."

  Bergen saluted and responded, "Yes, Sir!" As Brey and Nev went to follow the officer back inside, Bergen leaned over toward them with a big grin, "Well, done lad! I will tell our friend about this when next I see him, I am sure he will be proud to know that his training is still as effective as ever."

  They rounded the corner of the building smiling as well, especially as they heard the big sergeant bellow, "Winrow! What was that mess? You are supposed to the best we have!"

  "By the Creator Brey! I thought that fellow was going to run you through, coming from behind like that." Nev whispered as they went through the door of the guardhouse.

  "He nearly did! It's a good thing I heard him step!" agreed Brey with much relief in his voice.

  "Come in here, please." called the lieutenant

  They walked into the office once again and stood before the desk as before.

  Marsh sat down and regarded them for a moment, then asked, "Where did you learn your swordcraft? Clearly you have had professional instruction." He glanced at Nev and added, "Though I have not seen you wield a sword, I must assume you had the same instructor and likely equal knowledge if not skill."

  Nev nodded and said, "Our instructor is a retired solider who lives in our village, sir."

  "I see." was the simple response. "You must have trained quite hard to be as skilled as you are."

  "Since we were eight, sir." was all Brey added.

  The officer looked at them a moment or two longer and nodded once. He then reached for parchment and quill. "I am going to write a draft for the city exchequer. He will see you are paid your reward." He wrote in orderly script on the page for a minute or so. "I would suggest you keep the amount of the reward to yourselves or you may have to demonstrate your skills again and again to retain it." He looked at them to be sure they understood.

  They nodded and looked at each other for a moment. "Sir, may I ask a question?" asked Nev.

  "Yes." he said as he rolled the parchment and began sealing it with a ribbon and wax.

  "We don't quite understand what is happening. This reward - we know nothing of it." Nev felt a bit foolish in saying this, but he still couldn't quite understand being paid for simply doing what is right.

  Lieutenant Marsh seemed surprised at this. "You mean to tell me you don't know how much the reward is?"

  "Well sir," he said, "In all truth, we don't quite understand what a ‘reward’ is."

  "You understand that wanted criminals have a price on their heads, do you not?" he asked, growing more astonished at the naiveté of the youths.

  "You see, sir" began Brey, "where we come from, a person wouldn't be paid to do the right thing. It's just- expected." Nev nodded his agreement.

  The stunned officer dropped his hands to his desk and stared at them. After a moment, he began to laugh. "You truly are just a couple of village boys fresh from the farm, aren't you?" As Nev began to open his mouth in retort, Marsh held up his hands. "Now, now, no need to take offense at that. I assure you its very refreshing to meet actual good and honest people. It happens so rarely in this city." He chuckled a moment longer and sighed.

  "I can see I had you incorrectly labeled from the beginning. I apologize for my behavior, I had assumed you might be runaways or rogue independents trying to get by on the sly. I can see you are indeed just what you appear to be." He looked at them now a bit more kindly than before. "I will arrange for an escort to take you to the exchequer in the morning."

  He stood and handed the scroll to Nev. "Thank you, sir." Nev said. "And thank you for believing us as well."

  "It seems I have little choice in the matter." he replied with another chuckle. "Have you made arrangements for lodgings? It will be full dark soon and the city can be confusing to those unaccustomed to it." he said, looking out the windo
w at the darkening street.

  "Well," said Brey "we hadn't really thought about it. We were going to buy some things we needed and camp along the road near the river. It seems we can't do that now."

  "Indeed, with the gates closed for the night you will not be able to leave until morning." said the officer. "Perhaps I can make a suggestion; there is an inn just down the street that is quiet and clean. I will have Sergeant Bergen escort you there and see that you are given lodgings at a fair price."

  "Thank you, sir." said Nev appreciatively. As neither youth had been in a city before, they had no idea how to inquire about lodgings or what would be a fair price for it. The help of the big sergeant would serve to ensure they were not taken advantage of.

  The lieutenant called for the burly sergeant and gave his instructions. The young men picked up their packs and prepared to leave. Noticing the extra pack, Nev turned to Bergen. "Say, I had almost forgotten we have Fletcher's horse and pack of stolen goods. Who shall we give this to?"

  The sergeant's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You brought back his booty as well? You two are thorough, aren't you?" He reached over and took the pack from Nev's hand. "This can be left here. Should anyone come looking for their things, we will see that they are returned." He excused himself for a moment, placed the pack in a locker in the corner of the room, and returned. “I will have one of the men see to the horse.”

  "All right then, off we go." he said. He led them out the door and proceeded down the crudely cobbled street, past several shops just closing for the evening. Roughly a quarter of a mile down the main road was a building with a sign depicting an ale cup surrounded by berries and leaves hung above the door.

  "There may be a bit of noise from the alehouse below, but the rooms here are clean and well tended." explained Bergen, stepping through the low doorway. "The keeper here is a friend of mine, he will treat you fairly." Nev and Brey only nodded as they stepped into the loud and crowded room and stood next to the door.

  Inside was a smoky, dark common room filled with many men. Along one side was a long bar with two serving men behind it handing out ale and wine with one hand and collecting coins with the order. Additionally, there were two serving women deftly handing large trays atop their upraised hands, delivering food and drink to men sitting at a row of tables running up the middle of the room. The wall opposite the bar was lined with tables and chairs; a fireplace with a low, smoky fire was in the far corner. The serving staff as well as the customers had to yell to be heard over the din; to the young men used to the quiet of Carsby village this was absolute chaos.

  "Keep your money close to your skin in places like this, lads. A good cutpurse could skin you clean and be drinking your money away across the city before you know it." warned the burly soldier. "Wait here for a moment."

  Both reached involuntarily to the pouch beneath their shirts to ensure it was still attached to the thong around their necks.

  Bergen walked to the nearest end of the bar and shouted. "Carney! Come over here, you old dog!"

  A man walked to the end of the bar, a limp in his step. "That kind of talk will get you kicked out of my inn, Bergen! I might have to call the guard!" was the laughing reply from a man of equal size and girth to that of the kindly old sergeant. "If you've come for free ale, you've come on the wrong night. I take charity cases only on the day of the Creator."

  "You close the bar on the day of the Creator, Carney." observed Bergen.

  He looked at his friend with an expression of surprise and replied, "Why, I believe you're right!"

  "You are a cruel man, Carney." Bergen said with a chuckle. "I have come to ask if you have a room for the night."

  "Has your wife finally come to her senses and given you the heave?"

  "Not much chance of that. I'll not be rid of her that easily." he replied sorrowfully.

  "Why do you need a room then?"

  Bergen leaned in close and spoke quietly. "The lads by the door are in need. Being they are friends of Barlow, I thought you may be able to accommodate them for a night."

  Carney looked sharply at the youths standing nervously by the door. "Are you sure of them?" he asked.

  "I have seen the taller lad fight; his swordplay has Barlow written all over it. And he bested Winrow with two straight touches, one a killing stroke."

  The innkeeper's eyes widened and he whistled lowly. "Impressive! Winrow is as sharp a blade as I have seen, short of Bra –" He almost uttered the name Braydon but caught himself in time.

  "Well, I have no rooms here but I am sure I can arrange something; perhaps the loft over the stables, not the sweetest smelling, but a roof and soft hay nonetheless." He looked at the young men again with a critical eye and then grinned. "A killing stroke eh? I should think that would call for ale at the very least."

  Bergen looked back at them also. "They are fresh from the farm, Carney, I doubt ale has ever passed their lips."

  "You're right, of course." replied the innkeeper with a perfectly straight face. "We'll have to do that for them, I suppose."

  "It's the only decent thing to do, my friend." replied Bergen with a hearty laugh as Carney went to draw two tankards of ale.

  "Come over here, lads!" the soldier called.

  Nev and Brey walked uncertainly over to the bar to stand by the sergeant.

  Bergen waved his hand toward his friend and said, "This here is Carney. He is the owner of this establishment and a pretty good man."

  Carney reached across the bar and shook their hands. "Please to meet you, lads. I understand you need a place to sleep tonight."

  "Yes, sir." answered Nev as he shook his hand.

  "Well, it's a busy time and all my rooms are filled. I can put you up in the loft of the stable though. It's likely to smell of horses, but it's dry and quieter than the rooms upstairs are likely to be."

  "Oh that's fine, sir." said Brey. "We don't mind the horses at all. How much will you charge?" he asked reaching for his money pouch.

  "Now, don't you worry about that." he replied with a wave of his hand. "I'd not charge you a copper for one night's stay in a smelly stable in any case. Just wouldn't be right. Besides, I hear you bested young Winrow; that's no mean feat and worthy of reward."

  "Well then, have you boys had a bite of supper yet?" asked Bergen. "I'd be happy to treat you as I have never before seen or heard the lieutenant ever admit to being wrong. Now that's something worthy of reward, even without besting our finest swordsman!"

  They were indeed quite hungry and accepted his kind offer. The friendly sergeant treated the young men to a meal of lamb and cheese and goat's milk, since ale was not appealing to them. Once fed, they thanked him and bid him good night, then went to the stable to sleep. Despite the smell, it was more comfortable than sleeping on the ground had been.

  They awoke at dawn and got washed and were ready to leave when Sergeant Bergen and one other soldier showed up to escort them to the exchequer to claim their reward. The office was in the Town Hall, two story building of brick and whitewashed wood. Inside it was a bit dim and rather plain, the furnishings simple and functional rather than ornate as one might have suspected in such an important building.

  The stuffy clerk at the exchequer's office sat behind a high desk of dark wood and looked at the young men from under dark bushy eyebrows; he was quite thorough in examining the document they presented despite its being sealed. He even went so far as to ask the sergeant to verify the seal and signature of Lieutenant Marsh. He completed his notations in the large register upon his desk and excused himself. A short time later, he returned carrying a bulging pouch.

  "I am not able to pay the entire amount in silver, but the full sum is here. Now if you will each sign this document we may complete our transaction." He pushed a piece of parchment and quill toward them.

  Brey read the document and gasped. "Nev! The reward is thirty silvers!"

  Nev stared at Brey in astonishmen
t and then took the parchment and read for himself. "H-how can that be?" he stammered.

  The exchequer sniffed at their response. "You would think you have never had money before." He looked at them again with a disdainful expression. "Then again, you may not have at that. Please sign the document, I have a great deal to do yet today." he finished pompously.

  Their hands shook as each signed their name to the bottom of the parchment. Heads spinning, they took the pouch and walked outside feeling numb. Neither youth had ever seen more than two silvers at once in their lives and have never had more than ten coppers of their own. Even the pouches they got from Barlow amounted to little more than a few silver's worth each.

  "Well, lads," asked Bergen, "what will you do with your riches?" He chuckled, knowing that thirty silver coins could support a small farm like the ones they undoubtedly left only recently, for several months.

  "I have no idea." said Nev almost breathless.

  "Allow me to make a few suggestions then." The sergeant advised them on how to split up the coins and hide them in their packs or on their person such that they will not risk all of their coin at once in the event of loss or robbery. "Since it is known by now that he was captured and that someone has thirty in silver, it might be best to watch your backs a bit." he concluded, wagging a finger at them in warning.

  It was late morning by this time and they still had quite a journey ahead of them. "We should be going on in any case." said Nev. "We still hope to make Groden before autumn so, we should keep moving."

  "Yes." agreed Brey. "Thanks for all your help and advice, Sergeant. We can't thank you enough for all you have done for us." Each young man shook the burly man's hand and prepared to go.

  After a moment of looking this way and that, Nev turned back toward Bergen. "Sergeant? Which way is the road out?"

  The soldier laughed loudly, his belly shaking with the effort. "Lads, would you like one more bit of advice?" They both nodded.

  "Take the map from your pack and use it." he said laughing hard again.

  The two stood and looked at each other and felt very foolish. After a moment they too began to laugh, they laughed until their sides hurt.