The messenger, Gaston, climbed down from his horse and approached the corpse apprehensively. He prodded the dead man a few times with a testing finger before he was satisfied, then turned the head so he could see the face. “Yes, I believe so,” he nodded. “I think he was one of the lady’s guard.”
“Why didn’t they wait in Favreux then,” Galen wondered aloud.
“The arrows are of Breton make,” Galen’s squire noted as the messenger carefully searched the body. “And he was running away when he was shot.”
“Indeed, Armand,” Galen replied. “We must be cautious. Whoever did this may still be close at hand.”
“More than likely, sire,” Gaston agreed. “The body is slightly warm, and there are as yet no flies.”
Galen felt uneasy. The three of them were exposed, and his companions were lightly armed. An unknown force, large enough to attack a party of a few dozen, was not far away—indeed, was likely watching them at this very moment. But there was little choice.
“Mount up,” he instructed the messenger. “We must press forward and see if the rest of the party met the same fate. And quickly, in case there are survivors waiting for our aid.”
Gaston nodded, arose, and quickly leapt into his saddle. On his other side Armand, his squire, un-slung his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Galen unsheathed his sword, but laid it across his pommel. He clucked to his horse, and the party proceeded onward along the road.
“Brigands from Chaubric, I should think,” Armand said matter-of-factly, attempting to break the tension.
“Perhaps,” Galen nodded to his friend. He and Armand had been together for many years, and though it drew some chiding, both gentle and scornful, from his fellow knights errant, they had developed a mutual friendship and respect. “What bothers me, however, is what the lady’s party is doing along this road in the first place.” He gestured to the messenger. “Didn’t you say that the lady intended to stay in Favreux until an escort arrived?”
“I did, sire,” Gaston nodded. “I am as puzzled as you. Lady Esselbries is not one to take chances with her life, or the life of her retinue. When she heard of the recent brigand activity in these parts she determined to stay put until her safety could be assured. She sent me ahead to Gisoreux to request an escort of your uncle, and that is the last I know.”
As the party rounded a turn in the road they spotted another pair of bodies, laying face down in the undergrowth like their compatriot further up the road. A pair of arrows sprung obscenely from each of their backs. Galen examined the scene as they approached and his mind seized upon a detail.
“Where are their weapons?” he inquired to no one in particular. All three of the corpses they had found were weaponless, and none lay near the bodies.
“Taken by the brigands, most likely,” Armand shrugged. “Either before they ran, or after they were shot, I suppose.”
“Perhaps,” Galen conceded. “But they were halberdiers, were they not?”
“Aye, sire,” the messenger nodded.
“And halberds are practically useless to brigands,” Galen continued. “They are clumsy to wield amongst the trees, and not particularly effective in a skirmish, either. That’s why most brigands use bows and short swords, generally.”
“Perhaps they took them to sell?” Gaston offered.
“Perhaps,” Galen nodded. Slowly his mind filled in the missing details. “And they are missing their helmets.”
“And their armour,” Armand added. “Unless there are a lot of them, or they have pack animals it’s doubtful they could carry off such weight and still maintain mobility.”
“Either way, if they are not far off we may catch them,” Galen concluded. “Nonetheless, we must first find the lady’s party. There may yet be time to save them.” The three men pressed their mounts forward again along the forest road. The area had seen rain a few days previous, and a leafy dampness hung in the forest air, but the road had since dried out, making progress easier. Hardly a sound but the clopping of their horses’ hooves met their ears.
The road bent again, and more bodies came into view, followed by a coach, devoid of horses or signs of life. Numerous corpses lay strewn about on the roadway. Beyond the coach two helmeted knights sat astride their mounts, conversing quietly. They turned as Galen and his party rode into view.
“I hail thee,” Galen called. “I am Galen of Gisoreux. Who art thou, and how came thee this way?”
One of the knights rode forward a few paces and stopped. “I am Cedric of Oratheau. My companion and I just arrived here from Favreux. We heard the Lady Esselbries had come this way without escort and thought to catch up to her and offer our assistance. We are sadly too late.”
“Sire,” Armand whispered intently, “he cannot be from Oratheau. His livery is of Caupria, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are not mistaken,” Galen replied, keeping his voice low. “Rogart of Caupria was found slain not one week ago, his armor thieved. Hold back. I go to investigate further.”
Galen started forward. “Come then, good knight. My men tell me this butchery is fairly fresh. Perhaps we may find tracks to lead us to Lady Esselbries’ rescue.”
“Well met, Galen of Gisoreux,” Cedric replied. “We were just attempting to ascertain the brigands’ tracks when you arrived.”
Galen tried to keep his demeanor light so as not to betray his suspicion. As he approached the coach and the two knights he saw Cedric’s companion cast a sidelong glance into the woods. As he pulled even with the immobilized coach he dismounted casually, as if to look for tracks.
Once off his horse he suddenly swatted the creature on the rump. “Fly!” he cried to the animal. “Fly for your life!” As the creature whinnied and darted, Galen threw himself back against the coach, crouching down behind his shield. In an instant he heard and felt the impact of numerous arrows against both his shield and the coach behind him.
“Cease fire, you fools!” Cedric shouted to the unseen bowmen. “You will scarcely harm the knight, and you might hit the lady! We take him man to man! He cannot stand against all of us!”
Galen peered over the top of his shield, uncertain to trust the pretend knight. But as he looked he saw figures appearing from behind trees in the woods, drawing swords and hefting halberds as they advanced toward the roadway and Galen. He stood, keeping his back to the coach. As his opponents were still some distance away, he stole a glance through a window. On the floor of the coach lay a woman, bound and gagged. He assumed it was Lady Esselbries.
Returning his attention to the matter at hand, Galen surveyed the situation. The two faux knights, he noticed, were not advancing. On the other hand, it appeared that nearly two dozen of their men were. They were a ragged-looking lot, dressed in tattered green clothing, some wearing various types of armour, including some that appeared recently taken from the corpses they’d seen. All of them bore a malicious look in their eyes, focused entirely on Galen.
The knight stepped forward two paces, carefully measuring his distance from the coach. It would be a difficult fight, and he would survive only if he used the space to his advantage. With the coach at his back he would not be surrounded unless he allowed himself to be drawn away from it. The force of their rush might press him back against it, but that would ultimately be to his benefit. It was to the rear and the sides he must pay close attention.
The brigands halted a few paces away, balancing on the balls of their feet, measuring him. But Galen could sense their hesitation. They were motivated strictly by greed, and no one wanted to risk his neck attacking a knight. Every man that died would only increase the pot for his partners. He had no doubt they would stab each other during the fight if they thought it might result in a few more farthings in their cut of the loot. But no one wanted to be the first to die.
“Attack, you fools!” Cedric bawled. Like startled cattle, the lurched forward, and the fight was on. Galen crouched behind his shield and cocked his sword point above his shoulder. Timing their rush carefully, he sprang forward at the last second, bashing his shield into the lead brigand. The man flew backward, taking several more of his companions down with him. Instantly Galen stepped back into his crouch, ducked low, and slashed the legs out from under the next brigand to reach him. The others skidded to a halt, pausing to rethink their approach.
Suddenly an arrow appeared in the neck of one brigand, who gave a wide-eyed gurgle and fell to the ground. Before the others knew what was happening another arrow struck a brigand in the side. The brigands looked around, frantically trying to determine the source of the attack. Galen wasted no time. He knew. Armand was taking advantage of the distraction Galen had hoped to create. With all of the brigands focused on him, no one had remembered the knight’s squire. It was a mistake Galen intended to ensure they would never make again.
Four brigands fell dead before the rest decided that the knight was still the greater threat and returned to their assault. A trio of robbers charged him with halberds. Their inexperience with their newly-acquired weapons proved their undoing. Galen ducked beneath his shield, deflecting the blades upward and over his head. Then, rising up, he slashed his sword across their exposed stomachs. Two of them fell, spilling blood and intestines on the packed ground of the roadway.
The third anticipated the attack and lurched backward, barely avoiding the whistling blade. With the brigand’s halberd haft still engaged on his shield, Galen shoved the weapon aside, stepped forward, and split the brigand from clavicle to sternum. He yanked his blade free as the man fell next to his companions, then stepped back into his position next to the coach. The assault failed again as the robbers reconsidered their tactics, and Galen noticed at least two more brigands laying on the ground with Armand’s arrows in them.
“The sides, you idiots!” Cedric chided with rising frustration. “Attack him from the sides! He can’t defend both directions at once!”
Galen spared a brief glance and saw that the two false knights were slowly moving their mounts away from each other along the periphery of the battle, preparing to attack him from two directions. But they would not attack yet, not while their men were willing to do it for them and were between them and Galen.
The brigands seemed to catch on as well, spreading out their grouping to form a semi-circle around him. Only a few were still using halberds, the rest sporting swords and the occasional buckler. The shorter reach of swords would be to his advantage, but was still outnumbered perhaps ten to one. He would have to change those odds.
He had watched many times as his uncle, the Duke of Gisoreux, had discussed battlefield tactics with his commanders. One basic lesson was that when outnumbered and surrounded, charge the enemy’s weakest point, disabling the enemy at that point before the remainder of the force could close. It was time to leave the protection of the coach, at least for a time.
“Gisoreux and The Lady!” he cried, suddenly rushing to his left along the side of the carriage. The brigands holding the end of the semi-circle nearly swallowed their tongues for fear and back-pedaled vainly to avoid his charge. He cut them down easily, then turned his wrath upon the next closest robbers. They had recovered their senses and were advancing on him, their swords at ready.
Galen was exposed, but knew for the moment his back was clear. He feinted backward a few steps, as if retreating. The brigands, encouraged, charged. Galen stepped forward, deflecting one sword with his shield, and slashing viciously at the other’s sword with his own. Galen’s sword was of superior make and weight, knocking the brigand’s sword from his hand. The knight followed his sword with an armoured foot to the brigand’s midriff.
Galen’s sword came around again, this time aimed at the brigand on his left. The man moved to block the strike with own sword, only to hit empty air as Galen feinted. Out of position, the brigand was unable to defend against Galen’s shield edge as it collided with the side of his head. He fell like a sack of helmets.
Turning back to the other robber, Galen bull rushed him as he recovered from the kick, forcing him back into a group of his companions coming to his aid. One of them attempted to steady his staggering friend, forgetting the sword in his hand, and instead running him through from behind. The confusion gave Galen just enough time to put his back to the coach again.
The last of the brigands still using a halberd advanced on him. Galen noted he’d at least used one before, and backed up against the coach. Encouraged by his apparent apprehension, the brigand attacked, bringing the weapon down in a two-handed chop aimed for Galen’s head. Galen ducked, and the heavy metal head of the weapon bit into the side of the coach and stuck fast. Galen lashed out with his leg, shattering the brigand’s knee, then removing the man’s head as he fell.
Another brigand approached from the side. Galen reached up and caught the haft of the halberd, still protruding from the side of the coach, and pulled it toward him. As the brigand closed he let go of the pole. It sprang back nearly catching the robber in the face and throwing him off his guard. Galen lunged, implanting the point of his sword in the man’s chest.
Just then two more rushed him from his right. Galen ducked under the halberd, putting it between himself and them. Uncertain how to proceed, they backed away. The remaining brigands gathered into a loose and much smaller group around Galen and the coach. Galen yanked the halberd free and threw it to the ground, lest it get in his way.
“You stupid sons of livestock!” Cedric ranted. “Rush him all at once!”
But the brigands had had enough. They backed away from Galen and turned on their leader. “To hell with you,” one of them hissed. “You are welcome to my share!” Then he and his companions fled into the woods.
Cedric snarled. “Contemptuous traitors! Insolent dogs! I shall cut out your gizzards and feed them to your families!”
Galen smiled wryly. “I am at a loss to explain their lack of fortitude,” he chided, “considering your inspiring oration.”
Cedric growled at Galen. “If you want something done right…” he muttered. With a glance to the other false knight, he spurred his mount. The two riders moved to positions to either side of the coach. Galen stood his ground, knowing they would have an even more difficult time than the men on foot if he kept his back to the coach.
Then, with a shout the brigands charged. Galen quickly determined that the nameless brigand would reach him first and braced himself. Had the brigands lances he would be in serious trouble, but their swords would be deadly enough. The first rogue closed, slashing at his head. Galen blocked the attack easily, slashing back with his own weapon. The sword connected, only to bounce off the brigand’s chain mail. Galen knew from experience that he’d likely broken several of his opponent’s ribs, but that was a small consolation.
Quickly he pivoted to face the other attacker. He realized too late the error he had made. He had assumed that both men would use their swords as they passed. Cedric was riding straight for him. He leaped to the side, only to meet with the mostly solid bulk of the coach. He rebounded off it, directly into the path of Cedric’s steed. The horse struck him, knocking him roughly to the ground. Hooves like dinner plates rose above him and came crashing down. Pain lanced through his arm and chest. Darkness crowded his vision and he saw no more.
Galen awoke. It was dark, but he could make out the flickering glow on candlelight reflected on the ceiling above him. He was indoors, he realized. And there was a soft bed beneath him. He tried to move, but found his left arm unable to do so. His head throbbed, and he let loose a quiet groan. He heard a shuffling sound, like soft, hurried footsteps, but by the time he lifted his head, which caused tight pain in his chest, there was no one in the room. His room, he realized. In Gisoreux.
He relaxed and lay quietly. He was safe at least, though he had no idea how he’d gotten there. He tried to remember anything after being run down by Cedric, but he could not. After a few moments her heard more footsteps coming closer in the corridor outside. He raised his head in time to see Duke Hagen, accompanied by Sir Reginald, his deputy, and Lady Yvette, one of the palace sorceresses.
Duke Hagen smiled when he saw Galen, an expression that shifted not just his mouth, but his beard and moustache as well. “Galen! You have awakened! We have been concerned about you!”
Galen didn’t know what to say, but then had a sudden recollection. “Lady Esselbries, is she alright?”
Hagen frowned. “Do you not remember? You rescued her!”
It was Galen’s turn to frown. “I did? No, I do not remember. What happened?”
Hagen turned to Lady Yvette. “I thought you said he would be perfectly fine. You said nothing of any loss of memory.”
“Indeed, I did not,” Lady Yvette shrugged. “I have not detected any signs of amnesia. It was his arm and ribs that took the damage, not his head.”
“Tell me what happened,” Galen insisted.
Hagen pursed his lips, the nodded. “According to your squire, Armand, you came upon the lady’s coach while the brigands were still there, perhaps even laying in wait for you. You drove off the brigands, then single-handedly defeated two false knights who stayed behind. Lady Esselbries was freed by you, Galen. She is recovering from her ordeal with your mother in her chambers. Do you remember none of this?”
Galen struggled to remember. “I remember the coach. I remember fighting off the brigands. Then the two brigands came at me together and I was knocked down and trampled. I remember nothing after that.”
“Trampled?” Hagen frowned. “Did you not suffer your wounds when the last villain’s horse fell on you as you killed him?”
“I do not believe so, Uncle,” Galen shrugged.
Hagen looked thoughtful. “Hmmm… Then either you were much more brave than you remember, or your squire has a gift for embellishment. But if you did not slay those two brigands, then who did? Neither your squire or the messenger were sufficiently armed to fight with two fully armoured men, knights or otherwise. And it is difficult to imagine they would have left you unmolested if there was no one to defend you.”
Hagen paced the room for a moment. “This is most awkward,” he frowned. “When Armand recounted the tale before me and my court I swore that he who performed this great deed should be advanced to knighthood. I had assumed it was you, as Armand said. But you claim it was not. What am I to do, elevate you anyway, not withstanding our doubts?”
“But surely the messenger who accompanied us would also know what happened,” Galen said. “Does he confirm Armand’s account?”
Hagen turned to Sir Reginald, silently imploring a response. Sir Reginald flushed slightly. “He was sent to be cared for and then to return to his lady’s service,” he explained. “We had no reason to doubt the word of the squire.”
“Send for him at once,” Hagen commanded. “We must get to the bottom of this.”
“Yes, Sire,” Reginald nodded. “I will find him.” The deputy exited quickly, his booted steps receding down the corridor.
“Lady Yvette, is my nephew well enough to rise?” Hagen inquired.
“Aye, sire,” she nodded. “Though he must go gently for a time. I have repaired his bones, but it will still be a few more days before he shall be well enough for he usual activities.”
Hagen nodded. “See that he is suitably dressed, and have him sent to my court as soon as you can. We will see…what we shall see.”
The duke turned to leave, but Galen caught his attention. “I honestly do not know what happened, Uncle, but I hope I have not disappointed you.”
Hagen’s expression softened. “Of course not, Galen. Whatever else may have happened, your story and that of your squire concur at least far enough to confirm that you fought bravely and ably against enormous odds. Putting the brigands to flight was no small task. I am proud of you. Your father would be proud of you, and your mother will be proud when she hears. Now, make yourself ready. I am sure you want to know the rest of the story as much as I do.”
“Aye, sire,” Galen smiled. Duke Hagen ruffled his hair, then was gone.
Galen had barely taken his seat, sore but mostly well, in the great hall when Sir Reginald returned, the messenger Gaston in tow. After Hagen had left, Yvette had sent for Armand while Galen dressed. His squire and friend had helped him to the great hall where Hagen had reconvened his court prior to eventide meal.
Gaston, at Reginald’s urging, approached Hagen and bowed low over one knee. “Your lordship,” he declared, “mine is but to serve. What would you have of me?”
“Rise, faithful servant,” Hagen replied with a smile. “Your mistress speaks well of you and your service, and I would not deny her of either. I ask but a moment of your time and a recounting of your memory.”
“Both are yours, such as they are,” the messenger replied.
“I would ask of you, then, to recount your adventures of this day in the rescue of Lady Esselbries,” the duke replied.
Gaston looked uneasy. “I am certain that the squire Armand has already given a much better account than my humble memory could provide.”
Hagen frowned. “Squire Armand has given an account, it is true. Whether it is better or not should be left to myself to decide, I should think.”
Gaston swallowed and cast a quick glance in Armand’s direction. Galen could sense Armand’s rising tension at his side.
“Speak your tale,” Hagen urged calmly. “Speak nothing but the truth and you shall fear nothing from me or anyone else.”
“Aye, your lordship,” the messenger replied with resignation. “The encounter happened thusly. After leaving your lordship with the escort you so generously granted to my mistress, we rode for many hours, perhaps two thirds of the distance to Favreux. Then we came upon a body, who we identified as one of my lady’s entourage, felled by an arrow. We then came upon two more such bodies, deprived of life, weapons, and armour.
“We rode on a little farther and came upon my lady’s coach and the rest of the retinue all murdered by brigands, and two brigands, disguised as knights waiting there. Your brave nephew, sensing their falseness, rode thither, stopping next to the coach and ensuring his mount’s safety and drawing their attention away from us before challenging the vile band.
“Instantly he was set upon, first with arrows, and then with steel. I counted perhaps a score of men who descended upon him. Armand came to his master’s defense with his skillful bow, but there were far too many of them. Yet the noble Galen fought and killed many, the remainder fleeing into the woods.
“Then the two false knights assaulted his noble person, and alas proved too much. Your nephew was ridden down and trodden on, and may chance have been killed if not for his squire.”
Hagen frowned. “His squire?!”
“Aye, sire,” the messenger nodded. “When he saw his master cruelly felled he burned with a righteous fury, sire. With a single arm he uprooted a young birchling, and using it as a lance, he charged the false knights. The first he unseated with such strength that he died upon the road where he fell. The second brigand he also charged, but his lance was knocked aside and by but a hairsbreadth did avoid the removal of his own head by the villain’s sword.
“Again the two tilted at one another, and this time his aim was true. So great was the impact, that both were thrown from the saddle. By the Lady’s grace Armand fell near his master’s side, and thinking it no crime to apply his master’s sword to his master’s aid, he took up the noble weapon, standing between the vile robber and his fallen master.
“The brigand set upon him then, the armoured against the armourless, yet Armand showed not fear, but fury. Long they fought, smiting their swords together until I thought my ears would bleed from the sound. At last the brigand got the better of the squire, knocking him to the ground. Yet undaunted, Armand did rise to his knees, and before the foul villain could strike, did thrust forth his master’s sword. By luck of The Lady, his aim was true, and did strike the false knight in the one gap in his amour: his visor slit.
“The battle won, we then did rescue my mistress and did hie hence to Gisoreux to seek care for your brave Galen. And that is the extent of my tale, sire,” Gaston concluded.
“For which tale, and your artful telling thereof, we do thank you,” Hagen nodded. “Yet one question remains. As you have no doubt surmised, your tale does greatly differ from that of our noble squire after a point. We would know the reason why this is so, and which version can be considered the truth.”
The messenger turned pale but did not answer for many silent moments. Finally Armand arose and sank to one knee. “Your lordship,” he said. “His accounting is true, though more generous to myself than I would have it. I confess my falsehood, and would excuse myself only in this: I have no other desire in life than to see my master attain the rank he deserves and the duties for which he is most fit. He knew nothing of my prevarication. My desire was only that he be given the honors due him, for he did fight most bravely to defend us all.”
Hagen frowned, deep in thought. “Sir Reginald,” he said finally. “Bring me my sword.” The deputy complied quickly, extending the hilt of the great weapon to his master, who stood slowly and drew it from its sheath.
“Come here, squire,” he commanded, his voice even. Armand swallowed hard, but arose and walked calmly before Hagen, then sank again to his knees. Galen felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He could understand his uncle being upset, but surely not…
“What I have pledged I cannot rescind,” Hagen continued. He gestured to the court. “You did all hear me swear that whomever had done this great deed should be elevated to knighthood. It would appear, Armand of Eloirre, that you are the one to whom we owe our thanks.”
Hagen lowered his sword and gently tapped the squire on both shoulders. “I hereby elevate you to the rank of knight of the realm,” he declared loudly. “Though peasant blood runs in your veins, you possess the heart, courage, and strength of nobility. Any who would challenge that has not quarrel with you alone, but with me and my discernment of pedigree. Arise, sir knight. You are a squire no longer.”
Armand arose hesitantly. “Thank you, your lordship,” he said quietly.
Hagen’s face grew stern. “Do not be too quick with your gratitude. The life and responsibility of a knight is as much a curse as a blessing, as well you know, and more so a curse to you, considering how you came to your position. There will be many who will suspect you of guile, and who will only be convinced of your worth after much toil and sacrifice. Some will never be convinced. But unto them give no heed. Your duty is to The Lady, to Bretonnia, to your king, and to your lord. Serve them well, and it matters not what anyone else may say.”
“Aye, your lordship,” Armand said with a bow.
Hagen waved him to his seat, dismissed the messenger, and turned to the court. “Now then, let us be about our business of feasting and merriment. Make ready the eventide supper!”
Servant scurried to obey as Armand took his seat next to Galen. “I am sorry, Galen. I had not intended this consequence.”
Galen shook his head. “Sorry for what? For saving my life? I have long felt you to be as worthy a warrior as any knight. Even more than some, though I shall not give names here. If my not dying as a knight errant means your becoming a full knight before me I shall not quarrel. Indeed, I am glad that we shall perhaps face our futures as equals, not as knight and squire.”
“I would have been more than gratified with the latter,” Armand replied with a sigh. “It is all I ever wanted, really. I was more than happy to live on the fringes of your adventures. I just do not know why your uncle could not elevate you as well. After all, you did the greater part of the work.”
Galen smiled. “If not your better in combat, at least I best you at courtly dealings. It is precisely because he is my uncle that he cannot elevate me until I have proven worthy for all to see. Though the combat was great, it could barely be considered sufficient to elevate a peasant to a knight, let alone a fool who cannot dodge a horse. To elevate me would both diminish your elevation and call my uncle’s honor into question.”
“You are right,” Armand shrugged. “I do not understand. I know full well that other lords have elevated their family to the knighthood for little more than dispatching a squab at supper, and no one thinks to question it.”
“Not to their face, no,” Galen admitted. “But the word does get around. My uncle shall face wagging tongues enough for elevating you without adding to the difficulty of the matter.”
“I did not mean for this to happen,” Armand replied sadly.
“I know you did not,” Galen smiled. “You are not capable of such guile, my friend. All you can do now is to prove that my uncle did not make a mistake in this act. I know he did not.”
“You are kind, my friend,” Armand nodded.
“I am also fraternizing with someone above my rank,” Galen reminded him with a grin. “You probably should not be seen with me. At least until I earn my knighthood.”
“But surely they would not expect me to...!”
“I am afraid so, my friend. There cannot be an exception, even for the nephew of a duke.” Galen laughed at his friend’s crestfallen expression. “But never you mind. I shall earn my knighthood soon enough. There are reports of orc bands near the mountains. As soon as I am recovered I shall be joining Sir Esterus and his party being sent to investigate. I am sure we will encounter something that will prove me sufficiently brave, so long as I stay out of the way of horses.”
Armand laughed. “Indeed. I do hope you will learn that lesson after today.”
“I intend to. It has already cost me a squire. I shudder to think what it might cost me next time!”