Gold & Glory

by M. H. Johnson

  Soon thereafter the morning training was done, and the youths were invited to refresh themselves with the armsmen in a nearby stream before the noonday meal. And so they did, enjoying the company of these men and their acceptance of the youths, feeling a brief sense of connection with them. The armsmen traded good-natured insults and gossip for a while as they washed off the sweat of their morning exertions. The cousins, for their part, enjoyed hearing about the colorful characters that inhabited the keep, from the drunken server who fell into the washerwomen's bath to wake up far more sober, clothed in a dress and bonnet to the amusement of the entire keep, to Peggy the chamber maid, a comely lass who made cow eyes at all the younger guards, and swore she was in love with each of them. So when nature took its natural course, her fine young son, though deprived in terms of certainty of a father, did inherit half a dozen well-meaning 'uncles'. This was said with good-natured laughter as a number of the younger guards turned bright crimson and suddenly found scrubbing their torsos a fascinating activity requiring all their attention, not to be distracted by the jesting around them.

  "I'm glad she wasn't kicked out of the keep," Fitz reflected sadly. "In all the sadder stories, the girl was always kicked out of the castle after being seduced by the prince." This comment earned a number of grins.

  "Not to worry gentle sirs, there are no princes here!" One guard reassured with a chuckle. "And in truth, Lord Canterbier's a good sort, not one to make life harder for no good reason. He understands we're all only human, living life as best we know how."

  "Not that Lord Canterbier won't get a couple married when two love birds sing so loudly mother nature can't help but answer!" said another armsman amidst the laughter of his fellows. "As he says, when two young people act like adults, it is time for them to be adults, and, assuming objections are not too strenuous, they are married at the spring festival or before the baby is due, whichever is first!"

  "Unlike the case with Peggy," said a third smiling armsman. "Who sang to nature so many times with so many people that no one could figure out who was the partner in her duet! So our lord charged them all with the care of their mutual prodigy." This of course sent the whole retinue into fresh peals of laughter, save for the six embarrassed looking armsmen who, for some reason, just couldn't get their torsos sufficiently clean that day.

  "That's still a little sad, when you think about it," Sorn said, sighing. "Uncles are a fine thing, but it would be nice to have a father of one's own."

  "Fear not," said one smiling guardsman named Timothy who had earlier sparred with Lieberman. "Peggy's a sweet lass, of that there's no doubt, cheerful of temperament and loving of demeanor. The problem was only that she was a bit too loving. Anyway, her son is a fine-looking lad, and no doubt one of these boys will claim her in time." Timothy sighed, looking reflective for a moment. "I think they have probably all grown a bit wiser from this, though one can never tell. Peggy herself was a foundling, so was probably just more lonely than most, and never having had a proper mother, didn't know better, so just looked for comfort where she could." Timothy smiled. "I might have pursued her myself, you know, but I didn't feel it was totally proper, being as I am about a decade older than these younger pups, and I felt maybe she had found her heart with one of these lads. Things being the way they are, though, maybe I misunderstood. Maybe she never did find that boy who would care for her beyond a single night's sweet kisses."

  Timothy sighed. "No doubt these lads are just waiting to see who the baby takes after, before one of them proposes to Peggy. That lug-head better take care of her, that's all I can say," he declared gruffly, before looking away.

  "Maybe," Sorn said softly, "you should be the one to go to her, Timothy. You be the one to propose to her and let her know that you care for her, let her know that her warmth and kindness make you smile, that you want to hold her and protect her. Let her know that you are that man she is looking for, who will love her and care for her beyond that one night's sweet kiss, and help her build that home she is no doubt looking for."

  Sorn's intensity was almost palpable, and Timothy's expression turned soft and thoughtful. "Mayhap I will at that, young Sorn." Timothy gazed across the training grounds, eyes fastened upon the women working in the distance. "Mayhap I will."

  "Come on, they're preparing lunch!" Sorn noted the insistent voice of his cousin Fitz, waiting with his other brothers for Sorn to join them on their walk back to the keep, Hanz and Lieberman's bemused smiles counterpoising Fitz's look of impatient hunger.

  "You are such a romantic, Sorn," Hanz said with a bemused shake of his head.

  "Truly, brother, he is!" Lieberman concurred with a nod. "Rather sweet, no? Makes sense, when you think about it though. After all, no one knows who his father is either."

  The normally clueless Hanz and Fitz had the grace to look a bit embarrassed at their brother's statement, and even Lieberman looked a tad bit abashed at his cousin's glowering countenance, the grinding of teeth being audible even from where they stood. "Err, right then let's head to lunch, shall we?" With that Lieberman beat a hasty retreat.

  "Don't worry about him, Sorn," Fitz placated as the three also headed to the dining hall. "You know he doesn't think before he speaks!"

  "Like you two are any better?" Sorn quipped with an amused smile. "No, don't worry, I've long since become inured to the thoughtless ramblings of your tongues. I can only conclude that they connect straight to the center of your brain and whatever you all think, you say, no chance for forethought to get a word in edgewise. Might as well blame a cat for his meow."

  "Really, Sorn, I don't know why you are attacking me, I'm not the one who called you a bastard!" Fitz caught himself abruptly with a surprised look on his face, a slow blush flushing his cheeks, Hanz's laughter echoing through the keep's corridor providing audible accompaniment to Fitz's embarrassment. "Err... Cat's tongue, right? Meow and all that." With an embarrassed little chuckle of his own, he too beat a hasty exit for the dining hall.

  The fine meal of stew, fresh bread, and chicken dumplings passed soon enough, the triplets chattering excitedly about what they thought Lord Canterbier might grant them for their heroic deed, and Sorn also found his thoughts turning to that direction, enjoying the anticipation of wondering what bounty the lord's pleasure would grant them. Sorn couldn't help but smile as he reflected that despite everything, they were well on their way to making something of themselves in this strange new land.

  5

  An obsequious Maleks led Sorn and his cousins to Lord Canterbier's quarters before leaving with a bow, and the four youths spent a few moments admiring the finely appointed room they found themselves within. Sorn was most impressed by the elegant tapestries lining the chambers. One in particular that caught his eye depicted a knight, lance lowered, charging a dragon guarding a maiden. The maiden's yellow hair was threaded with real strands of gold, her mute face looking helplessly on from the uppermost window of the tower wrapped about protectively by the serpentine coils of the ebony dragon. The dragon's eyes sparkled brightly in the reflected lamplight with what, Sorn noted, were real emeralds.

  There were a number of comfortable looking chairs placed in strategic positions so as to catch the light, in addition to several tables made of well-polished hardwood. The tables were adorned with elegantly constructed glass vases containing freshly picked flowers, and silver bowls filled with fresh fruit as well. The latter, of course, was soon being picked over for choice specimens by Sorn's animated cousins, the noon's repast already forgotten. They dug in, famished as if they hadn't eaten in days.

  Sorn glanced out one of the narrow windows, looking out into the keep's square, noting the practice yard, and out past the opposing building he could just make out some fields, crops swaying in the wind. Wheat, he thought, discerning such with his keen eyes, and found himself sighing with the natural beauty of the pastoral landscape, gentle hills some miles distant soon blending with the brooding overhead sky, rumbling as it was with the promise of a storm
to come.

  "I wonder what he'll give us, do you think… perhaps a chest full of gold?" Fitz’s voice resonated with an excitement barely held in check.

  Lieberman thought for a moment, a rare contemplative expression gracing his features. He slowly shook his head. "No, a box of gems, I would guess. What do you think, Hanz?"

  "Well brothers, we must remember that this land is poorer than our own, and I have not seen any gold or gems. I suspect it will be something different, perhaps a bag of silver." Hanz turned to his cousin. "What do you think, Sorn?"

  Sorn shrugged. "To tell you the truth, guys, I have no idea. Let's just wait and see, shall we?" His cousins looked a bit put out with Sorn's practical reply and went back to their own animated speculations. Soon enough the door to Lord Canterbier's private study was opened by a solemn Valentien, who ushered them inside.

  Lord Canterbier himself was seated at a large oaken desk and politely gestured for them to be seated on the elegant looking chairs provided. Valentien the mage sat to the Lord's right, peering at the four youths intently.

  "Sorn, Hanz, Fitz, Lieberman," he began formally, nodding his head as a gesture of respect to each of the four youths. "Let me first say once again how grateful I am to you all. Had it not been for your courage, strength of arms, and willingness to assist a family whom you knew nothing about, I fear that neither I nor my wife and children would be here today."

  Lord Canterbier stopped for a moment, reflecting, it seemed, on the terrible catastrophe that had been so narrowly avoided by the most unlikely of chance encounters.

  "But Lord Canterbier, would they really have killed you?" For all his enthusiasm charging into battle against his romanticized villains, Hanz looked quite troubled at the thought of cold-bloodedly murdering a group of innocents. It was a look shared in equal measure by his twin brothers.

  "I mean, in the stories Sorn tells us, when evil bandits get the best of the gentry, they hold them hostage hoping for ransom. Isn't this what would have happened?" Hanz's voice seemed to echo a forlorn hope, as if he couldn't quite believe that the cold-blooded murder Canterbier had implied would have actually come to pass.

  Lord Canterbier smiled at Hanz, eyes twinkling with warmest affection.

  "Dear Hanz, I would not want to disillusion you of your idealism, for I sense that beneath your armaments you are still, in many ways, innocent boys, too young indeed for the burdens you seem so eager to bear."

  Lord Canterbier's sigh seemed almost melancholy. "Alas, children, this isn't a fairy tale anymore, for all that you did, thank the powers that be, defeat the bandits in question. The truth of the matter is that, after in all likelihood ravaging my wife and daughter, they would have quickly put an end to us. For you see, they were under specific orders to do so. Allow me to explain.

  "Our dear Nadelins, herb mistress as well as healer, was able to brew a tincture that made their leader quite talkative. Bront, I believe his name is. In any case, he was told by a figure presently unknown, to ambush us in the Underwood. It appears he was also assured that my men would be weakened. I was, in truth, concerned when two of my men had sickened so badly that they were forced to convalesce at the inn we had roomed at. Yet naively, I thought it just too much bad brew at some shady tavern or another, so ruled that the men could return when they were fit, their own misery a just recompense for their foolishness. Indeed, Chester and Roth, good men both, were hardly fit to travel themselves." Lord Canterbier paused, appearing more than a bit angry with his own hasty decision that had put his family at such risk.

  "I should have deduced that something was the matter when all my men sickened, yet I and my family were perfectly healthy, as if to encourage us to make our way home, alone and unprotected, like hares led straight into the snare."

  Lord Canterbier's voice became thick with self-loathing. “I, who pride myself on being a man of virtue, who cares for his people and his lands, was led by my own avarice to put my own family in mortal peril, heading straight for a trap I should have had the wit to see coming."

  "Please my lord, you are too hard on yourself." Valentien soothed. "Nadelins detected traces of the poison when she treated Chester, his already weakened body making the wound all the more grave, and from what I understand, the symptoms are such that they could easily be mistaken for a hangover. Were it not for the fact that your family is known by some to have a pearl of purity in its possession, our enemies would in all likelihood have tried such measures on you as well."

  "That is hardly an excuse!" Lord Canterbier interjected sharply. Then, in gentler tones, "which, good friend Valentien, is all the more reason why I should have suspected foul play from the start, realizing that poison could be used indirectly to achieve an end no less fatal than if I had been given a fatal toxin myself. That my enemy knew enough about me to poison my guards and not strike at me directly tells me that this was indeed a well-planned move made by a knowledgeable adversary. Not something at all to be taken lightly.

  "For you see, lads," Lord Canterbier continued, attention once more focused upon the four rapt youths before him. "It was my avarice that nearly spelled my end. I was in such a hurry to rush home to oversee the harvest and assure that all was in order for the sale that I had hoped to make in York, that I ignored the signs that indicated that prudence was my best course. I should have suspected foul play of one sort or another, and if anything, sent message to my keep for reinforcements to come and escort us home. As it was, I did not even wait for my own men to recuperate, and so we left, with only half my guard and them sickened at that.

  "So you see, lads, my family does indeed owe you our lives. You boys gave us a second chance, when by all rights the fates could have decreed our lives forfeit for my foolishness. For this act of true heroism, I will always be in your debt."

  The youths were quite touched by the gravity of the Lord's words and hastened to reassure him that it had been their pleasure to intervene, and that it was a joy simply to have done the deed.

  "It’s all right, your lordship, we knights like to do a bit of heroism now and again. Good for the appetite!" Fitz declared happily amongst his brothers’ similar reassurances.

  Lord Canterbier chuckled at this. "And by all accounts you four have eaten quite well at my table! And welcome to it you are." He then continued, once again solemn. "No matter your kind words, know that you will always be welcome at my table, and I will forever be in your debt."

  The noble paused a moment, allowing his words of gratitude to sink in. "That being said, I believe there is a matter that we had best discuss before we go further. Please know that what is said at this point, and whatever you choose to reveal to us, will change neither your good standing in our eyes nor our gratitude. We too remember our own adolescence, a time fraught with temptation, struggle, and peril. Hard choices are something we all are faced with at times, and rare indeed is the man who can look in the eyes of his creator and claim he has never failed in his resolve, has never succumbed. Sometimes the greatest test of a man's character is coming to terms with his own folly, and acknowledging when he has succumbed to temptation, made an all too human mistake. And character, young sirs, is something you have proven yourselves to have beyond all doubt."

  Lord Canterbier's gaze was penetrating, and Sorn couldn't help but groan softly to himself, fearing where this was going.

  "Something interesting Bront said during our questioning. He is, understandably, a bit put out with his missing eye. This, of course, will be the least of his troubles, yet according to him, it was a bird of some sort that had performed the deed, as unlikely as this is to believe. Stranger still, he claims that the bird actually talked to him before Bront finally collapsed to the ground. We had wondered if that was perhaps an effect of Nadelin's potion, but she said, unequivocally, that the potion does not cause delusions. It just encourages the recipient to converse without hesitation, confessing to all witnessed, seen, and contemplated. So whatever the case may be, Bront really believes a talking bird plucked o
ut his eye. Strange, no?"

  Lord Canterbier smiled at the thoughtful youths. "Indeed, this apparently remarkable bird is capable of still more. It appears that the bird himself managed to rather messily dispose of the second crossbowman, according to the other two bandits witnessed, a final shock that was a bit too much for them, I think, as they were unconscious when we tied them up, if you'll recall. A stream of fiery missiles worthy of a high mage, from what Chestnut and I could tell, which is interesting, is it not, Sorn, as I believe you had indicated to Chestnut that you were responsible for the man's neutralization? Yet the other bandits swear it was a crow that performed the deed. Puzzling, no? That aside from the fact that Valentien here is certain that the damage our carriage suffered was in all likelihood from a stray missile as well."

  "Yes, it is very troubling," Valentien concurred. "If one didn't know better, one would assume the magic missiles were fired from an artifact of one sort or another, one which the mage in question did not have complete control of, thereby putting his own safety and the safety of the very people he may have been trying to protect at risk." Valentien turned his penetrating gaze directly upon Sorn. "This is what I was attempting to warn you of earlier, my young friend. Arcane items are artifacts of great power, but very dangerous in the hands of those not fully trained. A misfired missile is the mildest of potential consequences. Should the arcane energies get too far out of control, the results can be far worse, even disastrous, especially for the apprentice in question.

  “As I am sure you remember from your own apprenticeship, training in the arcane arts requires diligence and dedication. First and foremost, above all, one must persist in the mastery of one's basic lessons and cantrips, no matter how unexciting it may feel at the time. It is this, as I am sure you recall being told, that serves as a sound foundation that is necessary for one to successfully pursue mastery of greater arts, so that one can cast spells of even the first magnitude with safety and assurance. It does an apprentice no good to run from his teaching, no matter how great his aptitude may be."