Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 10: The Enraged Brother

Eomir removed the leather gloves from his hands and took out a pair of chainmail gloves from his cloak—these had been a gift from Sir Logan for his eighteenth birthday. Since joining the Royal Guard, Eomir had served in Sir Logan’s company and was much favored by him.

He donned the gloves, stepped into the courtyard, and drew his sword. Gripping the handle with his right hand near the pommel and with his left close to the guard, he rested the blade diagonally on his shoulder, planting his feet in a crossed, balanced stance. This was the basic training posture for the two-handed sword; Eomir chose it not out of disregard for his opponent or lack of skill, but because the simplest, most fundamental forms often proved most effective in the hands of true masters. As expected, Beryon saw that Bess, standing opposite, had assumed the same stance.

Eomir and Bess held their positions, locking eyes for a moment before both surged forward, swords flashing. At the first clash of steel, they each twisted away, then closed again in combat. Judging from their exchanges, the two were evenly matched. In fact, Bess’s greater combat experience might have given him a slight edge, but Eomir fought with steady, measured steps, never yielding the advantage.

As Beryon and Mark watched with anxious anticipation, the tide suddenly shifted. Bess seized an opening as Eomir twisted his body, thrusting his sword toward Eomir’s torso. In a flash, Eomir bent backward, dodging the blade, then—gripping his sword single-handed—stabbed diagonally behind him. Rising swiftly, he trapped Bess’s sword and hand against his own body, giving his opponent no time to react. With a quick turn, Eomir slammed his forehead into Bess’s nose. Caught off guard, Bess took the blow squarely, his eyes clenching shut in pain, and Eomir seized the chance to wrench the sword from Bess’s grip.

Wiping the blood from his brow, Eomir grinned at Bess. “You’ve lost, my friend.”

Pressing his nose, Bess laughed aloud. “The reputation of the Dawnblade is well deserved. I concede. My nephew and I are willing to serve Sir Beryon.”

Having secured such a formidable ally, Beryon felt a surge of joy. Once Bess had stopped his nosebleed, Beryon sat down to chat with the uncle and nephew.

It turned out that Bess had once been a knight of the Principality of Valendy, but after offending a powerful noble, he was stripped of his title. Disgraced, his family cast him out, and to survive he became a mercenary. For more than a decade, he fought in nearly a hundred battles across the lands of Orian and Brick, eventually rising to command a company of real influence within his mercenary band.

Now nearly forty, Bess had grown weary of a life spent dancing on the edge of a blade. His recent injury had given him cause to rest, and he decided to settle in Frondoburg, finding comfort in a quiet, uneventful life. Tur was the son of a longtime comrade from the Free Company. After his friend was killed in battle, Bess took the boy in. When Bess left the company, Tur followed, and the two lived together as uncle and nephew. Though only fifteen, Tur had been well schooled by Bess and had amassed considerable combat experience, making him a capable fighter in his own right.

After an open and honest discussion, Beryon gave the pair ten denars as their first week’s wages, instructing them to pack their things, move to camp, and prepare to depart with the company.

Having recruited such excellent men, Beryon was well satisfied. He led Eomir and Mark back to the castle to see his father, recounting the events of the day and asking permission to purchase five families of serfs. Sir Auray agreed readily, instructing his steward to accompany Beryon to select the families—without mentioning payment. Beryon chose five families, totaling twenty people, each with five members. Though there were children among them, all the families were comprised mainly of able-bodied adults, providing strong laborers and a solid pool of future soldiers.

With this, Beryon’s force now numbered seventy-five, including himself. Of these, forty-five were grown men—enough not only to begin cultivating new lands, but also to deter any bandits or highwaymen along the road. Once the estate had cleared enough land for self-sufficiency in food, he would recruit more people, and, with plans for workshops and castle construction, Beryon estimated that in three to five years, Norland Castle could become a well-established domain.

After settling everyone into camp, dusk had fallen. Beryon, with Mark and Eomir, returned to Frondoburg for the farewell banquet his mother Lady Kellan had prepared. According to the old steward, Lady Kellan had arranged a sumptuous feast to see her youngest son off.

Upon entering the great hall, Beryon found the tables laden with delicacies: fried fish, ham, sausages, cured pork, roast chicken, rabbit stewed with apples, and, at the center, a whole roast pig—the very one Eomir had hunted in Lidar Castle. There was also white bread, wine, ale—an abundance of food and drink.

Only after Sir Auray and Lady Kellan arrived did everyone take their seats, ready to begin. Before the feast started, Sir Auray raised his glass and gave a speech, praising Beryon as the pride of House Tuck and expressing his hopes that he would become a worthy knight and lord. After Beryon rose to thank him, everyone toasted, and the banquet began in earnest.

Lady Kellan had poured her heart into the preparations, and the mood was warm and joyous. The food and drink were plentiful, and everyone was in high spirits. Suddenly, the doors burst open and a towering figure strode in—it was none other than Beryon’s elder brother, Sir Sery, the heir and squire of Frondoburg.

Sir Sery entered with a thunderous expression; at his demeanor, all conversation ceased. Sir Auray, seeing his eldest son’s sour mood, could not help but grow angry. “Sery, why have you only just returned? Didn’t I send word for you? Tonight is your brother’s farewell.”

“I have no brother! His actions have brought shame to House Tuck!” Sir Sery roared.

“Do you know what he did? He and his filthy followers poached game at Lidar Castle! And when Sir Yeren, the heir of Lidar, discovered them and came to confront them, not only did they injure him, but they stole his armor and horse! Is this the conduct of a knight? No, it is the act of a common brigand!” Sir Sery glared at Beryon, his anger unrestrained.

Beryon rose calmly. “Brother, my encounter with Sir Yeren was an honorable duel. Not only were my men present, but several of his squires, two merchant caravans, and even another knight witnessed it. That knight wore a surcoat over his mail emblazoned with a white unicorn—you may verify my account with him.”

“Don’t call me brother! Having a brother like you disgusts me. The squires from Lidar agree: you poached and assaulted Sir Yeren. If not for his magnanimity and my efforts to smooth things over, House Tuck would be at war! And you claim there was a knight present—nonsense! There is no family in the Duchy of Brick whose arms bear a unicorn. You are not only a rogue but a liar as well!” Sir Sery continued to berate his brother relentlessly.

Sir Auray pounded the table with his fist. “Enough! Both of you, come to my study at once—the banquet is over!” With a sweep of his cloak, he strode out. Seeing his father’s anger, Beryon hurried after him.

After the brothers entered the study, Sir Auray, still fuming, turned first to Beryon. “Tell me, Beryon, what really happened with Sir Yeren?”

Beryon replied in the same even tone, “Father, it was indeed a fair duel, as I told you yesterday. I swear by the Fire God—if my words are false, may I burn in hell after death.”

Hearing such a grave oath, Sir Auray’s concern eased somewhat. He then rounded on Sery. “And you—who told you this story?”

Sery, now uneasy, replied nervously, “Sir Yeren and his two squires told me themselves. Last night we drank together. He said he nearly persuaded his father to declare a feud, but for the sake of our families’ friendship, he relented.” Sery’s voice grew smaller as he spoke, his confidence waning.

Sir Auray looked at his eldest and sighed. “You are the heir of this house and of Frondoburg. Yet you caused a scene at the banquet over some drunken tale, humiliating your brother and me. How can I entrust Frondoburg to you?”

“But Beryon is only eighteen—how could he defeat a man like Yeren, who’s over twenty?” Sery protested.

Sir Auray’s face had turned a furious shade of purple. Shaking with anger, he jabbed a finger at Sery. “Fool! Your brother is the pupil of the Dawnblade, a man who slew a bandit chief single-handed in a den of thieves. Why shouldn’t he best that drunken womanizer Yeren?”

“In any case, I still don’t believe it. Didn’t Beryon say a knight witnessed it? Let’s find him and get the truth,” Sery insisted.

Sir Auray took out a parchment listing the coats of arms of the Duchy of Brick, showed it to Sery, and said, “There is only one man in the Duchy who bears a white unicorn as his arms—the heir of Duke Galorin, Sir Charles.”

He glanced at Beryon. “I believe your brother. And whether you do or not, news will spread within half a month; Sir Charles will tell the tale himself. Then you’ll know the truth.”

Beryon was startled to learn that the knight who had witnessed the duel was the duke’s own heir. But one born with a golden spoon had little in common with Beryon, and he asked for nothing else—only that the true story be told.

After this unpleasantness, Beryon no longer wished to remain in the castle. He took leave of his parents and returned to the camp to live among his men. The old steward had arranged things well, setting up Beryon’s company in the great barn, which was spacious and sheltered from the elements. Food was plentiful—something to be grateful for.

At dawn the next morning, Beryon’s company of over seventy men finished an early meal and set out. The winter air was cold and clear, but Beryon’s blood was afire. In his previous life he had been an ordinary soldier, a working man; now he was a lord, with the power of life and death over his own land. With hard work, who was to say he could not carve out a place for himself?

Not long after leaving Frondoburg, two fast horses caught up with them—Sir Auray and the old steward. Beryon quickly dismounted with Mark and Eomir to pay his respects.

Sir Auray offered few words, simply urging Beryon not to dwell on the events of the previous night, assuring him that Sery had only been misled and that the truth would soon come out. He handed Beryon ten gold coins as a parting gift, knowing that the journey ahead—clearing land and quelling bandits—would require many expenses. Touched, Beryon embraced his father and thanked him, an emotional gesture that left Sir Auray a little embarrassed.

Meanwhile, the old steward admonished Mark to care for himself and serve Beryon faithfully. He then handed Mark a small chest containing two thick sheaves of coarse paper, three quills, and a bottle of ink—a starter kit from an experienced steward to a novice.

At last, under the gaze of the two old men, Beryon led his company away, toward the distant horizon.

After a week’s journey, with many stops along the way, Beryon and his men reached their midway point: Normaburg, the county seat of Count Highcastle, Minister of Security, and lord of Normashire. The county magistrate, having received the minister’s letter, welcomed Beryon warmly as a friend of the same faction.

He arranged for Beryon’s company to rest at a manor outside the city and assigned the treasurer to assist Mark in procuring supplies. Beryon, not wanting to take advantage, gifted the magistrate three hundred denars as a gratuity, which greatly improved the man’s opinion of him—he would have gladly had Beryon stay even longer.

But eager to reach his own lands, Beryon did not linger. After purchasing more supplies—tools for clearing land, food, cloth, and other necessities—and resting for three days, they set out again. Shortly after leaving Normaburg, they encountered Bess’s former mercenary company—the Free Company.

With Bess’s introduction, Beryon met with the company’s commander and learned that their rates were reasonable: each mercenary cost only four denars per week, with the condition that one-fifth of battlefield spoils would go to the company. This was not an excessive demand.

Beryon knew his own men were untrained; not only would rooting out the bandits be difficult, but self-defense alone would be a challenge. It was best to hire some mercenaries for help, so he asked if they were willing to take on a garrison contract.

The Free Company’s captain, Durin, replied, “Sir Beryon, we’d be happy to garrison for you. It’s not as lucrative as fighting, but it gives the men a chance to rest. However, we’re on our way to Highcastle—an employer has hired two companies to escort his caravan. When we finish, I’ll have one company of light infantry free—thirty men. If you wish, I’ll have them report to Norland Castle in about twenty days.”

Beryon nodded. “What are the rates for garrison duty? All I need is for them to watch the castle; as you see, my men will need a month or two of training before they’re ready.”

Durin grinned. “Since you’re Lord Bess’s master, I won’t charge extra. For garrison duty, ordinary soldiers are two denars a week, squad leaders five, company captains ten, plus food and lodging.”

Beryon glanced at Bess, who nodded. “Durin’s offering you a bargain, my lord. Usually, garrison work runs three denars a week per man, plus a management fee for the captain.”

It was true—these were only light infantry, mostly equipped with leather armor and helmets, armed with spears and sword-shields. If he’d hired heavy infantry or cavalry, the price would have been several times higher.

Beryon nodded, took a coin pouch, and counted out fifty denars as a deposit for Durin. “Here is my deposit. Once your men arrive and begin duty, I’ll pay the first week’s wages and settle up every Sunday afternoon thereafter.”

Durin accepted the silver with a serious nod. “Thank you for your trust, Sir Beryon. The Free Company will not disappoint you. Once our Highcastle contract is complete, I’ll send the men to Norland as soon as possible.” With that, Beryon and his party bid the Free Company farewell and continued on their way to Norland Castle.