Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter Seven: Humiliated by the Second Generation

The next day, Berion and Eomir, holding a carefully prepared list, followed Sir Rudy to the Salted Fish Market in Vallombre. As its name suggested, the Salted Fish Market was the place to buy both live and cured fish and shrimp. This was because, to the south of Vallombre, stretched Lake Saint Martin—the largest inland lake west of the Blue Mountains. Fishermen sold their fresh catches to the merchants here, who then processed them into salted fish for sale. Over time, the market and its surrounding street became known simply as Salted Fish Street.

The moment the trio entered, they were assailed by an intense stench of fish. The ground was muddy and treacherous, discarded fish and shrimp rotted everywhere, and stray dogs and rats darted through the filth. Berion wrinkled his brow in distaste at the chaotic scene before him.

Sir Rudy, however, appeared entirely at ease, constantly greeting acquaintances as they passed. Noticing Berion's discomfort, he chuckled. “It’s precisely because Salted Fish Market is so filthy that even the city’s watch and patrols rarely bother coming here. That’s made it a haven for all sorts of rogues. If I weren’t with you, you’d have been robbed clean before you knew it.”

Eomir grinned, nudged his horse forward to ride beside Sir Rudy, and asked, “Sir Rudy, do you often do business here? Otherwise, how is it everyone knows you?”

“They know me because I was captain of the Vallombre watch for eight years, and I’ve been an officer in the city guard for half a month now. Most of these fellows have crossed paths with me before—some have even spent time in my custody. Now, if they want to go in or out of the city gates, they have to mind my mood,” Sir Rudy replied.

Berion laughed and teased his uncle, “I suppose they’ve paid you plenty of respect over the years. Not all your money reaches Auntie, does it? Hahaha!”

Sir Rudy swung his riding crop at Berion, who dodged away, laughing. “Don’t think that just because you’re a knight now, you can make jokes at your uncle’s expense. You’re still my nephew!”

Amid their banter, the three arrived at a courtyard. At the gate stood a burly man who, upon seeing Sir Rudy, hurried over to take the horses. “Honored Sir Rudy, what brings you here? If you need anything, just send a soldier to let us know. No need to come yourself.”

Sir Rudy playfully kicked him and said with a grin, “Not so fast, Split-Ear Dick. I’ve brought my nephew, Sir Berion, and his squire. We’re here to see your boss—got a bit of business for him. He’s in, isn’t he?”

“He is, Sir Rudy. You and young master Berion, please go right in. Leave the horses to me,” Split-Ear Dick replied, full of deference.

Berion and Eomir followed Sir Rudy into the courtyard and headed straight for a two-story building. Before they reached the door, Sir Rudy bellowed, “Durr, what are you doing in there? I’m here—aren’t you going to come out and greet me, or are you too busy grooming your pubes?”

Years of dealing with the city’s rabble had made Sir Rudy’s speech coarse, and no sooner had he shouted than a wiry, brown-haired man appeared, surprised. “Sir Rudy! What brings you here? Please, come in—I’ll have you try my own apple wine.”

“I’ve no time for your sour concoction. I’m here to ask you to purchase some things for me,” Sir Rudy said, handing him Berion’s list and briefly explaining what was required. Durr scanned the list, thought for a moment, and said, “The earliest I can have everything ready is tomorrow afternoon. For this much—five large carts, five strong packhorses—it’ll cost at least fifteen hundred denars.”

Sir Rudy drew him aside, whispered a few words, and the two soon returned. Durr now asked for just seven hundred denars, promising everything would be ready by nightfall the next day.

Berion had no idea what trick his uncle had used to slash the price so drastically, but he was satisfied to be getting such a bargain. He cheerfully took out seven gold coins, handed them to Durr, and gave him the address of the manor, instructing him to deliver the goods there the next day.

After bidding Durr farewell, Berion waited until they had left the Salted Fish Market before asking, “Uncle, how did you get him to lower the price so much? By my estimations, this lot should cost at least three thousand denars, even at black market rates. Isn’t seven hundred a bit too little?”

Sir Rudy smiled mysteriously. “At market price, it’s three thousand; on the black market, it usually goes for half that. Even then, those who trade in the black market still make a tidy profit. I told him to cut it to a thousand—he’s still making money, just five hundred less than usual. But given the favor, I’ll trouble him less in the future.”

“Then why did I only pay him seven hundred? Uncle, did you cover part of the cost for me?” Berion asked, surprised.

Sir Rudy nodded. “I slipped him three gold coins just now. Since you’ve become a knight, and I’ve yet to give you a proper gift, consider this three hundred denars my way of congratulating you. The Tucker family finally has a second knight.”

Hearing this, Berion quickly reined in his horse. “Uncle, I can’t spend your money. You only bought your three-hundred-acre farm last year and have your own land now—I know things aren’t easy for you. Let me repay you.” He reached for his purse.

Sir Rudy stopped him firmly. “I may not have much, but I’ve drawn a salary for years. You can’t afford to be without money, especially now. Once you have your fief, you’ll find more and more expenses. Keep the money for now—when you’re wealthy, then we’ll talk about repayment.”

Eomir chimed in, “Berion, Sir Rudy’s gift is heartfelt. Don’t refuse him. When we make our fief prosperous, we can repay him twice over.”

The three burst out laughing and continued on their way. As Berion needed to train the peasant soldiers, he and Eomir went to stay at the manor that night, parting ways with Sir Rudy at the city gate.

Three days later, on the road from Vallombre to Dragon’s Keep, a party of forty-two slowly advanced. At its head rode a knight clad in full chainmail, over which was worn a surcoat embroidered with a double-headed eagle. Beside him rode a sturdy young squire, also in a surcoat bearing the same arms.

Behind came five heavily loaded wagons, each driven by a carter or a youth. On either side of the convoy marched five soldiers in hardened leather armor, iron-plate helms, and double-headed eagle cloaks, bearing long spears and battle axes at their belts. Five more, armed with sword and shield, followed in leather and iron-plate helms. Ten sturdy women completed the company.

This was Berion’s retinue. He planned to visit his father’s fief, Frondeau, both to inform his family of his new knighthood and hereditary lands, and to recruit some followers for the journey north.

Three days of hearty meals, rest, and warm new clothes had done wonders for the morale and health of the former serfs. Berion offered each peasant soldier a weekly wage of fifty solis, urging them to serve as loyal guards, and promised freedom to any who earned three or more merits in battle. With these measures, Berion felt secure in arming his men without fear of desertion or treachery.

On the first night, Berion led the group to camp near the cave where he had once been captured. While Eomir and the others pitched camp and the women prepared supper, Berion, after giving instructions, took three horses and rode out under the moonlight toward the cave.

He inspected the area carefully—apart from animal tracks, there was nothing amiss, and the branches concealing the entrance had not been disturbed. Satisfied, he removed the branches, reset the traps, lit a torch, and entered.

Berion packed all the coins into a chest, locked it, wrapped it in sheepskin, and slung it over a horse. He did the same with his armor, bundling it in leather. As for weapons, only the spear was awkward; he removed the spearhead, knowing shafts were easily replaced. By the time he finished, the three horses were laden almost to capacity. Mounting the least burdened, Berion made his way back to camp under the moon.

Eomir was still awake when he returned. Though Berion had already explained his errand, Eomir was still thrilled to see so much armor and weaponry. Berion did not divulge the amount of money, and Eomir, understanding the sensitivity of such matters, did not ask. Berion only told him to guard the chest well as it was the seed money for their new fief, to which Eomir swore he'd defend it with his life.

At dawn, after a simple breakfast, they resumed their journey. By noon, they were not far from Frondeau and, at their current pace, would reach it before sunset. By a stream running beside the forest, Berion halted the group for a rest and a midday meal.

While the others rested, Eomir, ever restless, wanted to try the crossbow Berion had acquired from the fat steward. He took a few peasant soldiers into the woods to hunt for fresh game. Berion nodded his approval—Eomir was the chief instructor, and if he was willing to work for better rations, so much the better.

After the exertions of the previous night, Berion decided to nap. He wanted to be fresh when he met his parents and elder brother that afternoon. Spreading a woolen blanket over a stone, he lay down and drifted off.

He had no idea how long he slept before a peasant soldier shook him awake. “Sir, some men dressed as knights have arrived at the camp. They asked for you by name after hearing who we are.”

Berion, annoyed at having his nap disturbed, nonetheless rose and went to the front of the camp. There he saw five knights in full chainmail. As he approached, they all dismounted. The leader strode up and announced himself, “I am the son of Lord Raoul, baron of Budaburg and courtier, heir to Lidaburg, and a court knight. You may address me as Sir Yeron. These four are my loyal knightly squires.” His tone dripped with arrogance.

Berion introduced himself in turn, “I am lord of Norandenburg, court knight, deputy sheriff of the county, and the Headsman—Berion Tucker.”

At the sound of his name, Sir Yeron’s arrogance only deepened. He looked Berion over with disdain. “So, you’re the Forest Knight.”

Berion showed no reaction to the term, having already heard in Vallombre that many nobles mocked his being granted only a forest as a fief despite his achievements. But Yeron’s squires burst into laughter, joining their master in ridicule.

On the road, it was better to avoid trouble, especially since the other was heir to a court baron. Berion resolved not to antagonize them and said coldly, “Sir Yeron, I doubt you came here just to mock me. State your business.”

Yeron and his men stopped laughing. “Sir Berion, you have trespassed on my family’s land, so I have come to inquire.”

“Your family’s land? This is just a patch of open ground by the road—anyone is free to rest here,” Berion replied, gesturing at the streamside clearing.

Sir Yeron lifted his chin even higher, refusing to meet Berion’s gaze. “But this falls within the jurisdiction of Lidaburg. The duke has granted my family the right to tax all passing merchants.”

“But I am not a merchant caravan!” Berion was close to losing his temper with this knight, who was little older than himself.

“Oh, I forgot,” Yeron replied, deliberately stressing the words. “You are a noble, a landed noble!”

Berion forced down his anger and sneered, “In that case, I ask that Sir Yeron be on his way. My party will be leaving soon enough.”

Yeron and his four retainers strutted away like victorious cockerels. Berion, seething with anger, watched their backs with clenched teeth.

At that moment, Eomir returned, shouting excitedly, “Berion! I shot a wild piglet—there’ll be a feast for lunch!”

Berion’s brow furrowed. He suddenly realized they were on another lord’s land. Even if his title outranked the other, unless he was sovereign or the man’s liege, he had no right to hunt here. It was one thing to poach discreetly, but with the owner present...