Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 8: Fame Through Duel

As expected, as soon as Yarren heard, he immediately turned around to see Eomer carrying a crossbow, leading a few peasant soldiers who were hauling out a wild boar. Yarren’s expression changed at once, and he furiously rebuked, “Berrion, you’re too bold, daring to poach on my lands!”

Realizing he was in the wrong, Berrion quickly considered resolving the matter with money—anyone else would likely do the same in this situation. “Sir Yarren, my men weren’t aware of the rules. How about this: I’ll pay fifty denars and buy the wild boar from you?”

Yarren glared at him and snorted, “Fifty denars? You think I’m a beggar? At least a thousand denars!”

At this outrageous demand, both Berrion and Eomer’s faces fell. Such a wild boar, weighing less than two hundred pounds, would fetch no more than fifty denars at any market. After all, wild boar meat had a strong, gamy odor compared to that of castrated domestic pigs, and in an age without spices, only the lower classes were willing to eat it. Asking a thousand denars was blatant extortion.

Berrion fixed him with a cold gaze and said nothing. Yarren, wearing an arrogant sneer, continued, “A thousand denars is probably too much for a forest knight. So what then? Why don’t you leave your armor and sword behind?”

In this era, armor and sword symbolized a knight’s honor. Only the cowardly would surrender such things without a fight.

Eomer was so enraged he nearly choked. He drew his sword, pointing it at Yarren: “You bastard-born wretch, utter one more word of nonsense and I’ll kill you where you stand!”

Stung by the insult, Yarren too drew his sword, but instead of confronting Eomer, he pointed it at Berrion. “Your retainer is too insolent. I demand a duel! But he is merely a lowborn guard, unworthy to face me. I challenge you, Berrion Tuck, to a duel.”

Thus, events unfolded beyond anyone’s wishes. Berrion had hoped to resolve the matter with money, but now it had escalated to a duel. Nevertheless, he did not shrink back—he was confident in his martial skills, with the experience of two lives behind him, and the strong body of an eighteen-year-old.

As news of a duel between two knights spread, a crowd quickly gathered. In the entertainment-starved Middle Ages, witnessing a knightly duel was a story to boast of for years. Even two passing merchant caravans and a knight with his retainers stopped to watch.

Neither Berrion nor Yarren was mounted. Both shed their heavy helms and shields, saluted each other, and prepared to duel. Yarren gripped his sword with both hands and raised it above his head, the tip aimed at Berrion’s face and throat. This was the classic “ox stance”—less defensively solid than other guards, but able to transition into thrusts or sweeping cuts from above, below, or behind, directly threatening the opponent. Clearly, Yarren underestimated Berrion, confident that his own skill surpassed that of this young, minor noble.

What he did not know was that Berrion’s master, Sir Logan, was the foremost swordmaster of the Duchy of Brick, famed as the “Dawnblade.” Had it not been for a bandit’s arrow, Sir Logan would not have perished at the hands of mere outlaws. From the age of nine, Berrion had trained under him for nine years, honing his swordplay to a high degree—perhaps not quite Eomer’s equal, but certainly more than a match for ordinary opponents.

Seeing Yarren in the ox stance, Berrion crossed his legs, lowered his sword, and pointed it diagonally at the ground. Yarren and his retainers sneered, thinking such an open stance was courting death.

They failed to realize this was Sir Logan’s own creation—the Fool’s Stance. Though it left one’s center exposed, it enabled rapid counterattacks. After years of practice, one could defeat an opponent in a single exchange.

Yarren lunged at Berrion, swinging his sword with aggressive momentum. Berrion, unhurried, suddenly darted forward and swept his blade upward, forcing Yarren to change his move to block. But he was too slow—Berrion’s speed was astonishing, and his sword struck Yarren’s right elbow. Only the chainmail protected him; otherwise, his arm might have been severed. The force of the blow nearly broke the bone, leaving Yarren unable to wield his sword with both hands. Seizing the chance, Berrion struck Yarren’s left hand with the flat of his blade, knocking his sword away, and instantly set his own sword at Yarren’s throat.

It all happened in a flash, within a few breaths. Berrion disarmed and subdued Yarren so quickly that the onlookers could scarcely believe it. His peasant soldiers, who had once regarded him with a mix of fear and respect, now gazed at him with pure admiration.

Eomer, thrilled to see Berrion defeat his foe with Sir Logan’s signature technique, applauded, “A beautiful exchange—no wonder you’re Sir Logan’s pupil.”

At the mention of Sir Logan, Yarren and his four knightly retainers immediately looked regretful. How could they have been so blind as to provoke the “Dawnblade’s” disciple?

According to custom, the loser of a duel must surrender his horse, armor, and weapons, and his family must pay a ransom for his release. Berrion, not wishing to make enemies—since they were all nobles of the same duchy, and Lida Castle was not far from his own father’s lands—refrained from taking everything. He claimed only Yarren’s full chainmail, his great helm, and his warhorse, sparing his sword and ransom as a gesture of goodwill. Yarren, in pain, said nothing, and was led away by his retainers after surrendering his belongings.

Berrion’s exceptional skill and generosity won the crowd’s admiration, and applause broke out. He thought to find the knight among the onlookers to witness the duel, but the man had already slipped away.

Berrion gave Yarren’s chainmail and helm to Eomer, knowing that Eomer had long dreamed of having fine armor but had never been able to afford it. Now, receiving it as a gift, he was overjoyed. Once Eomer donned the armor, save for the lack of a crest, he looked every inch a knight, giving their band a much more formidable appearance. Because Berrion had made enemies at Lida Castle, he did not allow the group to rest but hurried them onward toward Frondo, so as to avoid further trouble. As for the wild boar, they took it along, planning to roast it that evening.

At dusk, they finally arrived at Frondo, Berrion’s homeland. Frondo consisted of a brick-and-timber castle, a market, and three villages, with about twelve hundred subjects—modest, but peaceful and pastoral.

Since leaving home at nine, Berrion had only returned for brief ten-day holidays in the early years, and not at all in the last three or four. He did miss home—however little his father seemed to care for him, and despite his older brother’s bullying, he had enjoyed a happy childhood here and made many friends. Besides recruiting followers, he hoped to bring some of those childhood companions to help him now. Yet he wondered if they would be willing to leave everything behind for a place where all must start anew. Now, as a lord, there would be no more holidays—no more chances to spend ten or fifteen days at home.

As he was lost in thought, two light cavalrymen rode out from Frondo to inquire about the party. It turned out that, as Berrion’s group was sizeable and bore a noble standard, a farmer had reported their approach to the castle, and Berrion’s father had sent two cavalrymen to investigate.

After so long away, even the family’s soldiers did not recognize him. Berrion produced his investiture letter and proof of lineage from the ducal court. The soldiers quickly dismounted and saluted. The older one said, “Young master Berrion, welcome home. I’ll go inform the lord and lady at once.” He mounted up and rode away, while the younger cavalryman escorted Berrion and his party into Frondo Castle.

Once past the market, Frondo Castle came into view—a brick and stone fortress atop a small hill, built by four generations of the family. It began with Berrion’s great-great-grandfather, who was granted the fief when only a single village and wooden fort existed. By the time it passed to Berrion’s great-grandfather, the fort had grown to a mixed stone-wood structure, and a second village was added. Under his grandfather, the castle gained its brick walls and towers, and the market took shape. When Berrion’s father inherited, the castle was completed, the market flourished, and the Duke granted the Tuck family another nearby village. Four generations, nearly a hundred years—it had taken all this to achieve the present prosperity. Now, Berrion would have to carve out his own fortune from scratch.

At the castle gate, his father and mother were already waiting. In the few years since he’d last seen them, his once vigorous father—Sir Owrey—still looked robust, but gray had crept into his temples; his mother’s face, too, was lined with new wrinkles. Berrion quickly dismounted and went forward to greet them. Sir Owrey smiled with satisfaction and gave him a brief embrace, while Lady Kellan could not restrain herself—she hugged her youngest son, weeping, and said, “These years, you haven’t come home at all—don’t you miss your mother, even a little?”

Sir Owrey patted her shoulder, saying, “Now that our little Berrion is a lord, you mustn’t go on crying in front of his people. It isn’t fitting for a lady of the manor.”

Hearing this, Lady Kellan withdrew to her husband’s side, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and regaining her stately composure. Sir Owrey ordered the steward to arrange quarters and meals for Berrion’s followers, and invited Berrion and Eomer into the castle for a banquet.

Once seated in the great hall, Berrion looked around and asked, “Father, Mother, where is my brother?”

Sir Owrey replied, “Baron Raul of Lida Castle is celebrating his birthday today. Your brother Seran has gone in my stead and will return tomorrow morning.”

At the mention of Lida Castle, Berrion and Eomer exchanged wry smiles. Sir Owrey noticed and quickly asked, “What’s happened? Did you have a falling-out with Baron Raul?”

Berrion nodded and recounted the afternoon’s events in detail. Sir Owrey laughed heartily, “Good, that’s my son! The Raul family are always so arrogant—if their land weren’t so close, I wouldn’t bother with them. Why do you think I sent your brother to the birthday feast instead of going myself? Ha! Today our Tuck family sent them two birthday gifts!”

Unlike his father, Lady Kellan was worried. “Were you hurt today? I heard you were captured by bandits—did they harm you?”

Berrion smiled. “Mother, don’t worry. Your son is quite skilled—few can harm me. There’s nothing to fear.”

“That may be, but you mustn’t go dueling at every turn. There will always be someone stronger. Staying alive is what matters most.” Like all loving mothers, she opposed her son taking unnecessary risks.

“Rest assured, Mother dear. I won’t go around picking fights for no reason. Besides, I have Eomer to protect me—he’s my retainer now, and with such a skilled man at my side, what do you have to fear?” Berrion reassured her.

The family chatted a while, and soon the servants brought out a lavish supper—both to celebrate the return of the youngest son and to honor the glory he had won for the family, whether as a newly endowed lord or for defeating the son of Baron Raul.

After a while, Berrion brought up an important matter. “Father, I’d like to recruit some men from your lands. As I’ve already mentioned, Nollandburg is nothing but forest aside from a small outpost. I must clear land to support myself, and also fulfill the court’s command to suppress the bandits. What I lack most is reliable manpower. The men you saw today are all serfs—I promised them their freedom in exchange for support, but they’re still not as trustworthy as one’s own people. I hope to earn your help.”

Sir Owrey agreed without hesitation. “Of course. You are the Tuck family’s second knight, and our first to be granted his own fief. Helping you stand firm is only right. Tomorrow I’ll summon the headmen of our three villages and ask them to help you recruit.”

Delighted by his father’s support, Berrion had Eomer bring in the gifts he’d bought for his parents in Valombrey. Before leaving the city, he had purchased a fur cloak for each: one for his father, mother, and brother, a fine bottle of Salyon wine for his father, and a pair of gold earrings for his mother. His parents were pleased, but as with his family in his previous life, they scolded him even as they smiled: “Why spend all this money? You need every coin now! We lack for nothing—don’t waste your money on us.”