Knight & Squire: Unwilling

     “Time to wake up,” an armoured, White Ixi kicked the lower bedframe of Rowan’s cot.

     “Mrrphh…,” Rowan rubbed his eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”

     “Lord Jeran has summoned you to the training yard,” the Ixi answered.

     Rowan scowled as he swung his legs over the bed, “What? Is being a knight too below Mr. Perfect? He’s ‘lord’ now?”

     “That’s the proper form of address,” the Ixi replied simply. “You’ll also be under my watch today.” He looked at Rowan kindly, deep brown eyes softening. “I trust handcuffs won’t be necessary? I don’t want to put you in them if I don’t have to.”

     Rowan’s nostrils flared as he snorted. “No, they’re not. Rotting in the dungeon isn’t high on my wish list.”

     The white Ixi smiled, “Very good. Be in the mess hall in fifteen minutes. You’ll have half an hour to eat. Then, it’s off to the training yard.”

     Rowan stood up and stretched, elbows popping as he raised his arms above his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

     Jeran rubbed his jaw and put experimental weight on his right foot. “Still a bit tender,” he said to himself. “It should be completely better in a day or two.”

     “Hey, I’m here, Mr. Perfect! What kind of torture do ya have for me today?” came a sarcastic voice.

      Here we go. Fyora have mercy. Jeran rubbed the bridge of his snout. “Hello, Sir Percival,” he greeted.

     The White Ixi nodded, “Good morning to you, Lord Jeran. I’m here to drop off Rowan.”

     “Just give us a few hours, three or so,” Jeran replied.

     Percival smiled, “Of course, Lord Jeran. And good luck!”

     I’ll definitely need it. Jeran waved at the retreating Ixi before turning to Rowan, “I’ll make this as painless as possi—”

     “I’d appreciate that, Mr. Perfect,” Rowan interrupted.

     “Can you please call me Sir Jeran?” the azure-furred Lupe asked.

     Rowan shook his head, “No can do. My words are the only thing that are free right now, and I’ll use them the way I want to.”

     Jeran rolled his eyes, “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s your fault you’re in this mess.” He sighed, “What about Jeran? I was never one was for titles anyway.”

     Rowan’s amber eyes closed as if contemplating something profound, “Let me think about that…” He opened them, and his mouth curled in a smirk, “Nope.”

     Jeran closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his snout. He had to pick his battles, and this one wasn’t worth fighting. Even if it was against courtly etiquette.

     “Alright, you win. For now,” Jeran conceded. Ignoring the snarky grin on his squire’s face, he retrieved a wooden longsword from the weapon’s rack. He held it out towards Rowan. “Show me what you can do.”

     Rowan crossed his arms and settled his weight into his left hip, “With that childish toy?”

     “I’m not about to give a child a real weapon. Even a dull one,” Jeran answered. “If you don’t cooperate, I will inform His Majesty of your refusal as soon as I am able,” he warned. “I know he’ll find good accommodations for you. It’ll be cold and dark but at least you’ll be away from me.” It was Jeran’s turn to smirk.

     Rowan scowled. “That’s not very knight-like of you.”

     Jeran crossed his arms and stared down his squire with a hooded gaze, “Says the one who stomped on my foot and punched me in the jaw.”

     Rowan’s scowl deepened, “Fine, ya got me.” He took the sword in both hands and put it in a ready position, “The sooner I do this, the sooner I can get away from you.”

     Jeran sighed, “We won’t be working on just swordplay today, but you have the right idea.”

     Rowan glowered at the azure-furred Lupe before settling into a stance, “Watch and learn, peasant.”

     Peasant? Well, at least that was a new one. Jeran watched the green Ogrin begin his drills. His eyebrows shot up as he saw the ease with which Rowan used the sword. He scrutinized his new squire carefully. His feet are planted with flexed knees. And he’s not just swinging madly; it’s like a part of his arm. That’s not to mention how effectively he’s using his wrists. He continued to watch, analyzing every move. He’s lithe but toned. A bit short but I’m sure he’s still got more growing to do. He’d probably be a great fencer. he noted. Jeran put his right hand up, “Stop.”

     Rowan paused and stared tight-lipped at his superior.

     “I guess you were telling the truth,” Jeran admitted.

     Thud. The sword hit the ground as Rowan put both hands on his hips, “And, what’s that supposed to mean?”

     Jeran shook his head, “Let me finish,” he answered in a clipped tone. “Your swordsmanship is above average, especially for your age. That kind of ease wouldn’t come from a life on the streets. It’s trained from early boyhood.”

     Rowan’s face wrinkled with conceit, “I told His Majesty: I am Rowan of House Albion. A sword was placed in my hand as soon as I could hold one.” He sneered, “I’m a noble, unlike you. You’re probably a dirty peasant who happened to work his way to knighthood.”

     Jeran rubbed the bridge of his snout with his left hand before running it between his ears. He didn’t want to do this. “You know I outrank you, right?”

     Rowan crossed his arms, “Yeah, you wish.”

     Jeran shook his head, “I wasn’t born into a noble family, but I am Count Jeran Sylvain de Borodere. My little sister is Countess Lisha Corrine de Borodere. King Skarl ennobled us as a reward for our service in Meridell’s two wars. He also created a new house: House Borodere.”

     Rowan’s pupils dilated for a split second before returning to normal.

     Was that fear? Hmph, looks like noble etiquettewasdrilled into you Not that anybody could tell. Jeran cleared his throat, “Let’s move on. We’ll continue to hone your swordsmanship each day, but now I want to see how well you ride a Uni.”

     “Do I have to?” he whined.

     Smack Jeran’s left hand met his face. “Yes, you have to,” came the muffled answer. “A knight must be able to fight effectively on the ground, mounted, and in the air. Wait here, I’m going to fetch an old friend of mine. I trust you won’t try to escape?”

     Rowan scowled, “No. It’s not like I can escape. Even if I wanted to.”

     “I’ll be back shortly.”

     A few moments later

     Jeran returned, reins in hand, leading a snow-white Uni with deep blue eyes. “This is Sir Spencer. He was my mount during both wars and has trained many squires.”

     The Uni smiled, “Hello, Rowan.”

     Rowan said nothing.

     “Please, don’t’ be afraid,” Spencer added. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I am highly experienced, and I promise you won’t get hurt on my watch.”

     “Whatever.”

     He cleared his throat loudly, “AHEM. As you can see, Sir Spencer is wearing a saddle.” He gestured to the sturdy, leather saddle with metal stirrups. “You’ll use it when you ride for now. However, Meridellian knights are expected to ride bareback. The hands need to be free for the sword and shield. Or for a spear. Therefore, we’ll also incorporate strength exercises for your thighs and core into our daily training.”

     Rowan went silent as he stared at his superior, face wrinkled in irritation.

     “Please mount Sir Spencer,” Jeran ordered.

     “I don’t want to,” he said.

     Jeran folded his arms, “’No’ isn’t an option, Rowan. Get on.”

     Rowan walked toward Sir Spencer. “It’s okay, lad,” the white Uni reassured. “I don’t bite.”

     “If you say so,” came the reply. Rowan slid into the saddle. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he hunched over, gripping the reins in clenched fists. He side-eyed Jeran.

     “Straighten your posture, Rowan,” Jeran ordered. How will you carry your shield and wield your sword like that?”

     “Nah, I like staying this way. It’s comfortable,” Rowan answered.

      Jeran tried his best to ignore the snarky Ogrin but couldn’t help an agitated huff. “Sir Spencer, please walk around the training yard. Then, increase to trotting, cantering, and galloping. I’ll let you decide when to transition to each.”

     “It will be my pleasure, Lord Jeran,” Spencer replied. “Are you ready, lad?”

     “Sure, whatever.”

     Jeran sighed in exasperation. Rowan wasn’t the only one who was irritated now. “Begin, Sir Spencer.” Jeran watched as Spencer went through his paces.

     About fifteen minutes later, Spencer halted in front of Jeran. “I think we should stop for the day,” he advised. “He feels heavy in the saddle, and he’s clearly not taking this seriously.”

     Jeran’s lips formed a thin, hard line. “Yes, perhaps that would be best.”

     Rowan slid out of the saddle. “So, can I go now?”

     Jeran glared at his squire, “Not by a longshot, kid. We need to work on hand-to-hand combat next. I have a feeling you’ll like it.” He rubbed his jaw subconsciously.

     Rowan saw the gesture and grinned again, “Yeah, I think you’re right, Mr. Perfect. Can you be my sparring partner?”

     Jeran grit his teeth, “No, you cannot. We’ll fetch Sir Percival. He’s our best knight when it comes to hand-to-hand.”

     “Awww! But, I want to spar with you!” the green Ogrin whined.

     This boy is going to end me; I just know it. Jeran lamented.

     Knock, knock, knock.

     Lisha smiled as she continued looking over some notes on her desk. “Come in, Jeran,” she answered.

     Jeran entered his little sister’s room. “How’d you know it was me?” he asked.

     Lisha turned around, the smile still on her face, “Who else would want to come in here? I mean, aside from Kayla, Morris, or Borris? Oh, and I could hear your footsteps. They're unique.”

     Jeran tried to smile. “Count on Ms. Sorceress General to be so observant. Are you sure you don’t want to be a knight? Ha…” His shoulders sagged, “I’m so tired, Li.”

     Lisha slid from her desk chair into her older brother’s arms. She hugged him tightly, “It seems like Rowan is causing you all sorts of trouble, huh?”

     Jeran returned the hug, “Yeah, definitely.”

     Lisha lifted her head as she focused on her brother’s face. “What happened?”

     Thump. Jeran sat down sluggishly, “I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”

     Lisha nodded and sat down at her desk chair, “Please do.”

     Jeran exhaled loudly, “Well…”

     Lisha leaned forward, hands on her knees as Jeran related the day’s events. Her face softened as she listened. He sounded as if he had stayed up all night.

     Jeran ran his left hand between his ears, “I’m not sure how much more I can take, Li.”

     Lisha got up to sit beside the crestfallen Lupe. “It sounds like Rowan was constantly pushing your buttons; he’s certainly a handful.”

     Jeran sighed and hung his head, “I’m not cut out to be a mentor, Li.”

     Lisha patted her brother’s arm, “Don’t say that. As I said before, he was purposefully being mouthy and annoying. I trust His Majesty’s judgment. And I trust you. You should trust yourself, too. And it sounds like Rowan’s utter stubbornness would serve him well in combat.”

     Jeran winced. He felt sorry for Rowan’s enemies. Even if they were currently hypothetical. “I certainly don’t want to consider that last scenario.” He sighed and put an arm around his sister’s shoulders, “Thanks, Li. Talking to you always makes me feel better.”

     Lisha gave her brother a squeeze, “That’s what sisters are for Jeran.”

     Jeran sighed, “He needs a break from training. From me. But His Majesty expects me give a daily report on him every morning. What am I going to do?”

     “Hmmm…” Lisha closed her eyes for a moment before snapping her fingers. Snap! I have an idea. I’m going to the market again tomorrow morning because I need to get another Healing Potion III for Kayla’s experiments. Picking up fresh meat and produce wouldn’t hurt either. I doubt he’ll try to escape, and I can ask for Sir Percival’s assistance. You can tell His Majesty you ordered him to run errands with me. Such menial tasks are more fitting for squires than knights anyway.”

     Jeran frowned at his sister, “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Li? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

     Lisha shook her head, “Jeran, he’s a disrespectful irk, not a brigand. I’ll be fine. I’ll have Sir Percival as backup in case something dangerous happens.”

     Jeran rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling quite tired, “Okay, I trust you, Li.”

     Lisha smiled, “Good.” Her eyes widened. Snap! “Oh, I almost forgot! I found Rowan’s familial records and his father’s service information from the second war. I wrote down the relevant parts.” She fetched the notes she was looking over and thrust them into his hands, “Look over them when you have time.”

     Jeran nodded sluggishly, his shoulders sagging even more.

     Lisha smiled, amused at the unusual circumstances. “Jeran, I mean this with love: get out. You need to rest.”

To be continued…