Knight & Squire: Unwilling

     Jeran couldn’t help himself. His knightly composure evaporated. Whipping his head to the left he gawked with wide eyes at Rowan. This punk was from noble stock?! There was no way. Luckily, King Skarl didn’t notice.

     “Rowan Felix de Albion,” he repeated.

      The Green Ogrin gave Meridell’s king a deep nod, “Yes, sire.”

     “Hmph,” King Skarl grunted. “Tell me, Rowan. How old are you?”

     “I am twelve, sire,” Rowan answered.

     “And how did the scion of a noble house end up on the streets?”

     Rowan’s amber eyes softened. Unshed tears flickered at the surface momentarily before being covered with a steely gaze. “My mother, Viscountess Ingrid, died shortly before the War of the Orb when the famine was still happening.”

     The weathered wrinkles of King Skarl’s face mellowed. “I remember that time all too well,” he stated. “Few were spared.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem, and your father?”

     “My father was Viscount Hugo, also Sir Hugo,” Rowan answered. “He died during the storming of the Citadel during the second war.” The Green Ogrin swallowed hard.

     King Skarl sighed, his massive stomach heaving as he did so. “I am sorry, son,” he enunciated. “And do you have any other family members?”

     Jeran’s eyes bulged even more as Rowan stared the king down. He looked like a Reptillior coiled and ready to strike.

     “None, sire,” Rowan spat.

     King Skarl leaned forward, frowning at the Ogrin. “I apologize for hitting a nerve, but do not forget to whom you speak.”

     Rowan automatically deflated, eyes suddenly glued to the floor. “I am sorry. Forgive me, sire,” he amended.

      “Let us move on,” the king waved his right hand again. “You have injured my Champion, Sir Jeran, and my Sorceress General, Dame Lisha. By doing so, you have hindered their ability to protect my kingdom.”

     Jeran saw Rowan’s pupils dilate. Where’s your bluster now? he thought smugly. Jeran bit his lip, pettiness vanishing in an instant. He internally chided himself. A knight must practice compassion and forgiveness. Compassion and forgiveness.

     “You also injured them when you attempted to steal Dame Lisha’s property,” King Skarl continued.

     Rowan said nothing, staring at the monarch fearfully. He’d been caught. There were no two ways about it.

     King Skarl scratched his chin. Scritch, scritch. “Normally, I would throw you into the dungeon, but you are still a child. Barely, I might add,” he continued. “Your father also served my kingdom faithfully during one of her darkest hours and paid the ultimate price.”

     Jeran’s heart fell into his stomach as he remembered the kinder hand fate had dealt him.

     “Not to mention you are martially skilled. You injured my kingdom’s greatest knight while unarmed.”

     Jeran winced. Thanks for rubbing that in. He glanced towards his left again, seeing the Green Ogrin staring quizzically at King Skarl. For once, they were on the same page. Just what was his Majesty getting at?

     Clap! The king slammed his hands together suddenly.

     Rowan jumped. Then, he gulped as he saw the king rub them together. This wasn’t good.

     “I have decided the perfect sentence for you, Rowan,” King Skarl declared. He glanced at his Champion before looking back at Rowan. “You will serve Sir Jeran as his squire until further notice.”

     Both Jeran and Rowan’s jaws hit the floor simultaneously. “What?!” they exclaimed.

     King Skarl’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Your primary crime was against Sir Jeran, so you will serve him as punishment. You have also demonstrated remarkable fighting skills, and I refuse to let that go to waste. You will make an excellent knight of the realm if properly honed.”

     “Sire, if I may—,” Jeran tried to interject.

     “You may not, Sir Jeran,” the king interrupted. “You have never taken a squire, and I ignored it because of your sterling service. I would have thought your near-death experience during the second war would have made the necessity of a possible replacement evident to you.”

     Jeran gulped. He couldn’t argue with that. “A-as you command, Majesty,” he relented. Fyora, he’d been stuttering so much lately!

     Rowan had gone silent, much to the Lupe’s surprise. He glanced at his newly appointed squire. The Green Ogrin’s eyes were dark with anger as he stared at the regal carpet. I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re stuck with each other now. Couldn’t his Majesty have just sentenced him to community service or something? What did I do to deserve this?

     Jeran’s unhappy thoughts were interrupted by the monarch’s guttural voice, “Sir Jeran, you will give me a report on Rowan during our morning meetings. I fully expect your squire to behave and progress martially.”

     Jeran swallowed again and bowed, “As you command, sire.”

     King Skarl’s gaze turned from his Champion to Rowan. “Look at me, boy,” he ordered.

     Rowan raised his head slowly, a morose expression on his face. “Yes, sire,” he answered flatly.

     “You will stay in the soldier’s barracks, and you will also have an assigned guard to monitor you whenever Sir Jeran is absent,” the monarch continued. “And do not even entertain the thought of escaping.” He narrowed his eyes, “If you attempt to do so, I will throw you into the dungeon without hesitation.” His mouth hardened into a thin line, “Am I clear?”

     Rowan’s morose expression dissipated. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, “Yes, Majesty.”

     King Skarl grunted, “Hmph, good.” He waved his clapped his hands again, and the two Draiks guarding the door approached the throne.

     “Guards,” he commanded, “Escort Rowan to the barracks and have the senior officer prepare a spare room for him. I will have one of my courtiers deliver a schedule for the boy’s watches.”

     The guards bowed before flanking Rowan and placing their hands on both his arms. The Green Ogrin grit his teeth as they pulled him away.

     Jeran sighed as he watched them go. Why me? he lamented.

     “Do not be so sullen, Sir Jeran,” King Skarl advised. “The boy has potential, and I have the utmost confidence you can whip him into shape. Whether he becomes a knight of the realm or not, it behoves him to polish his skill at arms. Especially as heir to a noble house.”

     Jeran bowed, “I… I appreciate the faith you place in me, sire.”

     King Skarl nodded in acknowledgement, “It is well founded. Now, go. Rest and heal. I need my Champion back in fighting shape.”

     Lisha’s forehead wrinkled in concentration as she pored over the intricate writing on a scroll. Let’s try this. Maybe I was pronouncing things incorrectly. She mumbled in an ancient language. The scroll shone brightly with white light before fading. Eureka, it’s about time I deciphered this spell!

     Knock, knock, knock. A fist beat at the door.

     Lisha jumped at the sound. She needed to be more present. “Who is it?” she asked.

     “It’s me, Li,” was the answer.

     Lisha smiled, sliding from her desk chair to open the door. Her happy expression faded as she saw the sullen look on the Lupe’s face. “Jeran, are you okay?” She shook her head, “Come in. You look like you could use a break.”

     “Thanks.” Jeran exhaled heavily.

     Lisha patted her bed, motioning for her older brother to sit down before returning to her own seat.

     Thump. Jeran sat down sluggishly. “You won’t believe what happened, Li,” he began. “It’s like I’m being punished for a crime I never committed,” he complained.

     Lisha’s adjusted her glasses, “Tell me about it. It’ll make you feel better.”

     His words emerged painfully as he related his morning meeting with the king, Rowan’s apparent heritage and behaviour, and the king’s sentence.

     Lisha’s left eyebrow quirked above her glasses, “I will admit. This seems unfair to you,” she conceded.

     “It is!” Jeran exclaimed, standing up suddenly. He winced as his foot protested the abrupt movement. “He hurt both of us, especially you.” He stared at the bandages on Lisha’s palms. “And now, Skarl wants me to make a knight of him! What was he thinking?!”

     Lisha’s hand ran across her ears, causing them to coil down and spring up. “I’m sure King Skarl has a good reason. He led us well during both wars.”

     Jeran balked in disbelief. Could his sister be siding with that punk and His Majesty? “Li, please don’t tell me—”

     “What Rowan did to both of us was wrong,” Lisha interrupted. “I’m certainly not on his side, but I am trying to consider this from King Skarl’s perspective.”

     Jeran crossed his arms and glared, “And pray tell, what would that be?” he asked angrily.

     Lisha adjusted her glasses again. “Think about it. Meridell has recovered well, but there’s no denying the losses we sustained, particularly regarding noble houses.”

     Jeran nodded.

     “Not only that,” she continued “Meridell also needs her noble families to support the kingdom monetarily and with their connections. They’re the ones who sponsor diplomatic events between us and other nations. They’re the ones who fund jousting tournaments and kingdom-wide feasts. Finally, and most pertinently for you, some of them have served as able commanders. Their ‘breeding,’” Lisha waggled her two index fingers, “helps them ascend the chain of command easily in those cases.” Her eyes drifted to the top left corner of the ceiling in thought, “To their credit, I’ve found few records of incompetence among them. They’ve produced fine soldiers and even some archmages.”

     Jeran chuckled, covering his snout with a hand.

     Lisha tilted her head, ears swaying as she did. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

     Jeran smiled at his little sister, “To call you ‘well-read’ would be a massive understatement.” “Are you sure you get outside with all that reading you do?” he teased.

     Lisha stuck her tongue out playfully, “Brains over brawn is always preferable,” she stated. “Unfortunately, some people I know lack that gift.”

     Ignoring his foot, Jeran shot from the bed and put his little sister in a gentle headlock, “You’re not talking about me, are you Li?” He lightly rubbed her head with his knuckles, snickering all the while.

     “J-jeran! Let me go, you dolt!” She giggled as he continued rubbing her head. “As Head Sorceress, I need to constantly be studying.”

     Jeran released her reluctantly, “Fiinnee!” he moaned in mock defeat. “I’ll leave you alone, Ms. Sorceress General." He sighed, “In all seriousness, do you think you could look at the records from the second war when you have time? I need to know if Rowan is telling the truth; he isn’t exactly trustworthy.”

     Lisha smiled, “Of course.”

     Jeran returned the smile, “Thanks, Li. You’re the best.”

     Lisha’s smile stretched into a grin, “I know.”

     Rowan stared into holes in the wall as he laid on his cot. He’d tried verbally harassing the guard outside his room, but the guard didn’t bite.

     Nothing left to do but sulk and wait for Mr. Perfect to summon him.

     Rowan huffed and rubbed the sore spots on his wrists where the handcuffs had been. He didn’t know what was worse: the fact he’d be stuck with Mr. Perfect until Fyora knew when or the fact he was being forced into becoming a knight.

     Knights were pawns in tin armour. Fodder. Fodder who leaves behind grieving families, he thought bitterly.

     Well, he was nobody’s fool. Much less anyone’s squire. He would never be a knight.

To be continued…