Randall clenched his fist tightly as he fought to keep his features and voice even. “Let me assure you that it’s not dangerous to you—“ he began, but the Squire interrupted.
“The White Knight assures me that thy current state is a temporary one,” Ravilich explained tersely. “But just the same, after we see these good folk to the arms of their neighbors I have been asked to extend an invitation for thee to temporarily join our band.”
Randall felt his heartbeat quicken and his mouth go dry, but he nodded in spite of his body’s response to the man’s ‘invitation.’
“I see,” he began, frantically trying to find a way out of the situation and seeing none, “but I’ve already been too much of a burden to you. I would consider Ser Cavulus and yourselves more than generous simply for seeing me to Jacob’s Plow. I can find my own way from there.”
He saw Ravilich grind his jaw, and Randall instinctively reached for the grip of his sword—entirely of his own volition this time.
“The White Knight feels that thy inclusion in our ranks might temporarily provide a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the Squire explained shortly as a dark look came over his face. “Thy particular condition is of no great concern in the lands of the north, and as that is our next destination we would consider ourselves honored if thou didst accompany us.”
Randall was speechless for several seconds as the impact of the man’s word sank in. After replaying Ravilich’s words in his own mind, Randall felt himself squirm unconsciously, which he ceased doing as soon as he realized he had done so.
“How could my presence benefit Ser Cavulus or his company?” Randall asked, his voice breaking slightly toward the end.
Ravilich’s expression was impossibly hard and unreadable as he stared straight ahead. “My Lord,” he hesitated briefly, “believes though might assist in the White Knight’s nightly meditations. Ser Cavulus has been…troubled of late, and the lack of respite has left my Lord overtaxed and drained.”
Nodding his head reluctantly, Randall sat back against the wagon’s sideboard and waited for what seemed like an eternity until they finally came to a stop before the two large barns in the middle of the field.
Lowering himself from the wagon, Randall straightened his clothing and adjusted the sword’s position on his back before following Charles and his family into the narrower, taller barn.
Inside was a group of people, most of whom were half-elves but a small group of which were human.
“Charles,” Randall heard a girl’s voice cry out from the rear of the group, and he saw a young woman about Charles’ age come bursting through the group and throw herself into the boy’s arms.
“Aye, Milena,” Charles said into her thick, blond hair, “I’m fine.”
The two shared a silent moment staring into each other’s eyes before there was a deliberate throat-clearing from the front of the group. Randall saw it had been a human man—and a mountain of a human at that—who had done so.
“Leave Charles alone for now, lass,” he said a bit gruffly, and the young woman reluctantly did as she was bidden. The huge man stepped forward and towered over the smaller, Ghaevlian, boy. The man was wearing simple clothing, but his demeanor and bearing gave Randall this distinct impression there was very little about him that should be overlooked. He looked down at the boy, who met his gaze as stoically as he was able, standing nearly two heads shorter than the human.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Charles,” he said in a deep, grinding voice after the two exchanged a silent moment. “Would that we had acted quicker…perhaps this tragedy could have been averted.”
Charles looked taken aback as he lowered his gaze and nodded. “Thank you, Mister Drannis,” he said respectfully.
“There’ll be no more ‘Mister’ between us, Charles,” the huge man said sternly. “If you are to marry my daughter, then you must forever call me ‘Father’.”
Charles looked up at the man with hope clear in his eyes and Drannis tilted his head toward the young woman, Milena, “For this night and this night alone, you may speak with her with some privacy. When next The Wanderer returns, I shall see you wed as your mother,” he tilted his head toward Charles’ mother, “and your father wanted. Now, go and see to your bride.”
Charles nearly leapt past the huge man before catching himself, stopping to shake Drannis’ hand and gushing, “Thank you, sir!”
“Aye,” Drannis replied and as Charles ran to Milena’s arms, the huge man mumbled, “you might not thank me after you’ve been married as long as I have.”
With that, he turned to the door of the barn, where Ser Cavulus was just now entering. “We owe you for the safe return of our flock, good Ser Knight,” Drannis said stiffly, moving to meet the White Knight and proffering his hand.
Ser Cavulus accepted the other man’s hand and only now did Randall realize that Ser Cavulus was not quite so large as he had initially believed. Now that he thought about it, he had never stood beside—or even in the company of—Ser Cavulus, having first seen him riding in on his huge, white horse.
His white steel armor was broad—at least as broad as Drannis’ body—but now that he had a frame of reference, Randall realized that Ser Cavulus was likely little taller than the average human, which put him somewhere around a head taller than Randall himself.
“Rimidalv was forged to uphold righteousness and banish darkness wherever it is found,” Ser Cavulus replied with a curt nod. “As its bearer I merely pray that my own rectitude is equal to such a noble task.”
“Be that as it may,” Drannis said as he released the White Knight’s grip, “we are eternally grateful for your aid. I heard that you fell at Mount Gamour…you might not remember it but we fought alongside the day the Storm Fort was taken.”
“I do indeed remember thee, Drannis the Woodsman,” The White Knight nodded and Drannis chuckled. There was an awkward silence before he replied in his heavily distorted, metallic voice, “But I fear that thou didst hear true; the cost of defeating the Storm Lord was of a mortal severity. Still, I am grateful for the opportunity to serve the White Blade however that is achieved.”
Drannis looked skeptical, but he shook his head. “The Maker works in mysterious ways,” he said with a splay of his hands.
“Indeed,” Ser Cavulus replied.
Again, an awkward silence hung between them until Drannis gestured toward the shorter, broader barn, “You will find your stock has been tended and what repairs we were capable of effecting have been made to your equipment.”
Ser Cavulus bowed slightly, “I am in thy debt, Drannis, for the good works thou hast already wrought, as well as for those which thou hast yet to realize.”
Drannis nodded stiffly before thanking the other members of Ser Cavulus’ group in turn, bringing him to face Randall with a look of bewilderment as his eyes went briefly to the sword’s bare, metal tang sticking up over his shoulder.
“I apologize; I do not remember you,” he said, offering his massive, gnarled hand.
Ravilich stepped forward, “The good Baron Pendergast is a generous sort whose sojourn from the lands he calls home brought him to the aid of thy kith. In point of fact he had already engaged the marauders before we had located them, which is perhaps the only reason they yet live. Without the sounds of the battle he bravely initiated with the band of ruffians—outnumbered seven to one, as it so happens—it is unlikely my own Lord would have arrived in time to save young Charles.”
“A Baron?” Drannis said with a mixture of appreciation and skepticism. “From where do you hail?”
Randall opened his mouth, but Ravilich smoothly stepped in. “The good Baron was returning home—to the north,” the Squire said with only the barest hint of emphasis, “before happening upon young Charles’ ruined farmstead.”
Drannis’ eyebrows rose slightly at this as he turned to Randall. “Is this true?”
Randall looked back and forth between the two, feeling like a trapped rabbit before nodding steadily, �
�It is.”
Drannis gave him a discerning look, but nodded gruffly as he bowed at the waist, “Then you have our thanks, Baron Pendergast.”
Randall shook his head, more than a little uncomfortable at the man’s intent look as he said, “It really wasn’t me that saved them; I’m just glad to have…played a part.”
Drannis looked at the assemblage of mounts on which Ser Cavulus and his group had ridden and then looked back to Randall. “You’ll be needing a new mount for the journey to your homeland, then,” he said before whistling sharply, causing pair of boys—the older one human and the younger half-elven—to scurry forward.
Before Randall could argue, the boys arrived and spoke almost as one, “Yes, Pa?”
He gestured to the shorter barn opposite the one where they stood. “Ready Storm Chaser for the road,” he instructed and the boys’ eyes widened, “you are to fit him with the black saddle.”
“But…Pa—“ the older boy began to argue, but was silenced by a hard look from his father.
“Do as I say,” Drannis said, his voice carrying a quiet authority which made the young, nearly teen-age boy seem somehow smaller to Randall’s eyes. “And hurry back when you’ve finished; I expect the White Knight has no desire to linger any longer than he must.”
Ser Cavulus stepped forward. “Thou art correct that we must not tarry overlong…but I must confess that I am feeling somewhat poorly these past days,” he explained, and Randall saw Ravilich visibly tense as the White Knight continued. “If it would be no great burden to thee and thine, I should like to request use of this barn until dawn’s first light.”
Drannis shook his head in obvious surprise. “It is no burden, good Ser Knight. I shall have my kin prepare a proper morning meal to see you off, if such meets with your approval.”
“Of course. Thou hast my heartfelt thanks,” Ser Cavulus replied with what Randall took to be a gracious nod before turning and making his way to the second barn.
Randall made to follow the White Knight, but Ravilich interdicted him. “The White Knight requires privacy at this juncture…mayhap Mister Drannis might like to hear of your own experience with the brigands?”
Knowing he was being herded, but not wanting to offend anyone present, Randall turned to look at the huge Drannis. “Very well,” he agreed, “I’ll do what I can.”
Ravilich gave him a questioning look before nodding curtly. “I shall bring thee a bedroll from our supplies,” he said before turning to follow the White Knight.
With that, Randall turned to the small group of farmers, and seeing the expectant—and in some cases, excited—looks on their faces, he took a short breath before moving toward them to answer their questions.
“Then he leapt through the air—in a manner like thou might expect to see from a bird in flight—and easily cleared the huge, vicious axe as it crashed down where he stood,” Charles explained as all eyes had fallen to the young man as he regaled them for the third time with his perspective of the battle. “For a moment, the good Baron and the giant regarded each other and the Baron saw for the first time that the giant had teeth ‘round his eyes, and horns growing from his cheeks!”
There was a long silence as the children considered such a horrific creature. “What happened then?” a young, human boy asked who could have been no more than six years old.
“Then?” Charles repeated, taking up the small, wooden stick he had used to act out the scene in his own, exaggerated fashion. “Why, then Baron Marion ran up the shaft of the weapon as easily as thou might run across a log!” he exclaimed, brandishing his stick in a rough approximation of how Randall remembered the fight happening.
“Did he kill the giant?” a small, half-elven girl asked. “Did he stop it from hurting the good children?”
Randall could barely contain himself. The boy’s words were flowery, his descriptions were completely over-the-top, and somewhere along the way the children had decided they were listening to some kind of fairy tale. Such tales generally showed the ‘bad children’ being punished by the vicious, cruel monsters while the ‘good children’ were spared because of some imaginative twist involving morality.
But seeing the looks on everyone’s faces—including the handful of adults present—he almost couldn’t help but become swept up in the boy’s…artistic interpretation of the events.
“That’s just what he meant to do, Trixie,” Charles said, leaning down to wink at the young girl before standing back to his full height. “But alas, the giant was as tall as this barn,” he swept his arms wide to encompass the entire structure, eliciting a wave of gasps and covered eyes by the youngest of the children, “and before the good Baron could reach his heart, the savage beast’s slow, ponderous movements unbalanced poor Marion!”
“Did he fall, like Yindi from the Great Cornstalk!?” asked a half-elven boy with obvious concern on his face.
“He did,” Charles agreed, clearly reveling in having the small group eating from the palm of his hand, “but by piercing the giant’s large, smelly pants,” he mimed stabbing his rump with the stick, which brought a round of giggles from the children, “he slowed his fall enough that he did not share poor Yindi’s fate.”
There was a collective sigh, followed by a brief pause before a human girl stood up and asked, “And that’s when Ser Cavulus rescued them?”
“That’s right!” Charles exclaimed. “Riding his horse, and looking every bit the right hand of good and justice, the White Kni—“
“I believe that will do for tonight, lad,” Drannis interrupted, causing a long chorus of groans from the children. “Not another word,” he growled half-menacingly before chuckling, “your mothers are tired; see them to sleep, and you can listen to Charles’…stories in the morning.”
The children got up, and two of them came over to hug Drannis before returning to the back of the barn, where their mothers had made beds out of old blankets and piles of straw.
“Is that the gist of it?” Drannis asked in a low voice, as Randall watched the children lay down. Randall shook his head, and Drannis chuckled, “Allowing for young Charles’ liberties when designating what is and isn’t possible, of course.”
Having thought about it for a moment, Randall nodded. “There were seven of them,” he explained, “and they were led by a woman who was larger than any woman I’ve ever seen—outside of actual giant-kin, of course.”
“And you stood tall against them?” Drannis asked with obvious respect as he shook his head. “Forgive me, Baron, but it has been some years since I saw evidence of such bravery.” He looked off into the smaller barn for several seconds before turning back to face Randall. “In any event, we are in your debt for what you’ve done.”
Randall waved a hand dismissively. “Really, you don’t have to thank me—“
“Nonsense,” retorted the other man. “All stories become larger with each telling but you’ve done me and my kith a service we could never truly repay.” He placed his hand over his heart and lowered his head, “As a simple farmer and one-time soldier in General Birchaud’s army, I have little in the way of wealth. But should you ever find yourself in need of an aging farmer’s aid, know you can call on me.”
“Thank you,” Randall said uncomfortably.
“Now, I expect you’ll be needing a bed,” Drannis gestured to a small, makeshift bed like the ones the women and children were now resting upon, “and while it’s not much, I expect it will be better than the bed of a wagon.”
Randall suddenly realized just how badly his bones ached and he nodded his thanks to the huge man. “Again, you have my thanks.”
Drannis bowed at the waist before turning and making his way through the door of the barn where he disappeared into the quiet, dark night.
Deciding it was time to test the straw bed, Randall flopped down on it and before he knew it had happened, he was fast asleep.
Chapter XVII: Riding High…
Dawn, 4-13-5-659
“I must express my gr
atitude to thy kith and kin, good Drannis,” Ser Cavulus said from atop his massive, white steed. “I find myself rejuvenated following the night’s respite.”
Drannis nodded as he took a deep draw from his long, hook-shaped smoke pipe. “I only wish we could do more for you, Ser Knight; the hero of Mount Gamour deserves better than I can provide. It would seem I will forever be in your debt.”
Ser Cavulus gestured to the wagon which his troupe apparently owned and operated, and Randall could smell the fresh fruits and vegetables piled within. “Thou hast been far too generous with thy bounty already; such a portion of thy harvest ensures we will make our destination with full bellies.”
“Aren’t you hungry, Ser Cav-leelus?” asked Trixie, one of the young children Randall recognized from the previous night’s storytelling. She held a small plate with meat, eggs and fresh bread arranged neatly on it. Randall could personally attest to the quality of the food, having consumed three such plates himself.
The White Knight’s shoulders slumped visibly as he leaned forward in his saddle. “I fear I can no longer appreciate such a fine meal,” he said, and Randall could hear a note of regret in his voice, “but I would be well pleased should thou consume my portion for me, little one.”
The little girl looked confused for a moment before smiling, giving a curtsy that was so cute Randall couldn’t help but smile, and running back to her mother.
Ser Cavulus straightened in his saddle and Randall saw the two boys Drannis had sent off the previous night approaching with a monster of a black stallion in tow. The mount was already saddled, and looked to be as large as Ser Cavulus’ steed—or larger.
“Baron Pendergast,” Drannis said gruffly, “this is the finest beast I have ever owned, and I would consider it a personal favor should you take him as your own.”
Randall’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I couldn’t—“ he began.
“Nonsense,” Drannis snorted, “he hasn’t had a chance to stretch his legs in two years, and I’ve not the heart to set him to the plow. He’s a bit long in the tooth to serve as a proper charger, but with a firm hand I’m certain he’ll serve you well for years to come.”
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 21
