Warrior Knight

1. Torburg-2

“And yet, if I’m not mistaken, you don’t display his colours?”

The knight chuckled. “The duke does not wish to be represented in the games he oversees. It might be seen as trying to influence the judges.”

“Does the duke employ many such men as yourself?”

“A fair number, although I daresay there are few here this day.”

“Why do you suppose that is?” asked Ludwig. “Do they not seek to gain honour in the tourney?”

“Honour?” said Sir Galrath. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to look at it. On the other hand, maybe they don’t want to risk their lives on such things.”

“Are you saying they’re cowards?”

The knight looked him squarely in the eyes. “If I were you, I would guard my tongue. It would not go well for you to spread such false accusations. Someone may take offence and demand to settle the matter once and for all.”

“A duel? I would welcome it.”

“Then you are a fool, my young friend.”

Ludwig’s back stiffened. “I take offence at that, sir. Will you retract your words?”

Sir Galrath shook his head. “I meant nothing by the remark, Sir Ludwig. I merely wished to indicate that tournaments are not for everyone.” He rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, showing off a long scar. “See this? I got it from the tip of a lance. The thing punched clean through my vambrace, and I was lucky not to lose the entire arm.”

“And so your wounds have made you more cautious?”

The knight refused to be drawn into the conversation. “I can see you think quite a lot of yourself. I hope the confidence is warranted.”

“It is,” assured Ludwig. “Allow me to name Kurt Wasser.” He indicated his companion with a wave of his hand.

Kurt bowed. “An honour, Sir Galrath.”

“The honour is mine, sir.”

“Perhaps,” offered Ludwig, “we shall meet on the field of honour.”

Sir Galrath rose, moving to stand before the young man. He eyed him up and down, then finally offered his hand in friendship. “I shall look forward to it.”

“Might I ask who you’re competing against in the first round?”

“I don’t know,” replied the knight. “At this point, none of us do. Come morning, though, it’ll be an entirely different story.”

“Morning?”

“Yes, that’s when they post the schedule. The jousting is done in rounds. Defeat your opponent, and move on.”

“And if you lose?” asked Kurt.

“Then you forfeit your horse and armour.”

Ludwig turned pale but soon recovered. “Is this always the way?”

“Of course,” said Sir Galrath, “although a knight may always pay out his ransom in coin.”

“I thank you for the lesson, sir, but I fear we must be on our way.”

“If you must. I shall look for you on the field.”

“As will I,” said Ludwig, turning abruptly and almost colliding with Kurt. He took a moment to recover, then strode off with purpose.

Kurt followed after him, calling out as he went. “Ludwig, for Saint’s sake, man, slow down. This isn’t a race!”

“I must find a tent.”

“Have we enough for that?”

“I told you, we’re fine,” said Ludwig.

“So you say, but I’d feel a little more secure if you"d let me deal with our finances.”

“Must I remind you again that I am the son of a baron?”

“I’m well aware of that,” said Kurt, “but you’re no baron’s son now. You chose to run away, remember?”

"Which makes it all the more imperative we make a favourable impression with the duke. We can’t do that without a pavilion.”

“And you expect to find one here?”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? I have my doubts.”

“There.” Ludwig pointed. “You see?”

Kurt swivelled his gaze. A young man, not even twenty years of age, was folding up a worn-looking canvas while all around him were tent poles and rope. They moved closer until the youth was within hailing distance.

“Excuse me,” called out Ludwig.

The youth looked up from his work, tracks of tears evident on his face. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“It is indeed,” the young man replied. “My master, Sir Haren, was killed this very morning while he practiced for the joust.”

“I’m sorry to hear of it,” said Ludwig. “May I enquire as to the manner of his death?”

“He was knocked from the saddle and broke his neck in the fall.”

“Didn"t he have a helmet?”

“He did, but it helped him not. The body is a frail thing, even when encased in steel, and my master was not well-armoured.”

“I take it you’ll return home?”

“Home? I have no home, nor did my master. He left there long ago, vowing never to return. For the last ten years, he has been travelling the circuit, earning a living off his martial prowess.”

“See?” said Ludwig. “I told you it was possible.”

Kurt frowned. “This pavilion is not that of a successful man,” he warned.

“It is not,” agreed the youth, “but it"s all I have left.”

“What will you do?” asked Ludwig.

“The only thing I can do—sell this off and seek employment elsewhere.”

Ludwig smiled. “Then perhaps fate has brought me to you. How much for this?” He waved his hand, encompassing the campsite.

“Which?” asked the youth. “The pavilion?”

“All of it.”

The young man smiled. “Make me an offer.”

“Would fifty crowns suffice?”

Kurt covered his eyes, unable to watch the disaster unfolding before him, yet powerless to prevent it.

“More than sufficient,” said the youth.

Ludwig found a dry section of canvas and dumped out his purse, counting out the coins. Satisfied, he threw down the purse itself and withdrew five crowns, leaving the rest for his purchase.

The young man scooped the pile up eagerly, filling the purse once more and running off in the direction of the Hammer.

“It looks like we now have a pavilion,” Ludwig said with a smile.

“We do,” admitted Kurt, “but we have little left in the way of coins. Five crowns, was it?”

“Come now, it’s not all bad news. I’ll win this back in no time. Now, let’s get this pavilion put up, and then go and fetch the horses. There’s no sense in paying for another night at the inn."

Kurt moved closer to the pile of canvas, walking around it, trying to make sense of it all.

“Well,” he said at last, “we have plenty of rope, and those would appear to be tent poles. How, exactly, does this thing go together?”

“I have no idea,” said Ludwig, “but how hard can it be?”