Knight & Squire: Preface

     Danner yawned as he stared at the latest agricultural and civilian militia reports. There was a slight uptick in bandit activity, but nothing too concerning. He rested his head on his left hand, and his eyelids began to droop. As fancy as the title sounded, being Lord Sheriff was often more boring than not.

      Danner’s head almost hit the table as it slipped off his hand. The Blue Wocky stood up, grimacing as he heard his back and knees pop. “Maybe I should head to the training yard,” he mumbled to himself. He cracked his knuckles, “Can’t let my archery get rusty. Jeran should probably be there right now.” He smiled as he thought of his friend, “I bet that Ogrin is giving him trouble. What was his name?” His mouth crinkled towards the left side of his face, “Rowan? Yeah, that’s it. Rowan.”

      Suddenly, Danner’s eyes bulged as if someone had lit a fire under his bushy tail. “Fyora, I forgot!” he exclaimed. He rushed towards the bookshelf, kicking up dust as he skidded to a halt. Jeran’s studious little sister, Lisha, had given him notes regarding the troublemaker’s parentage and station. However, she didn’t have access to more detailed records, specifically those pertaining to birth and death.

     Danner rushed back over to his desk, sifting through the considerable layer of papers littering his desk. He’d sworn he’d pulled them from the archives previously. “Ah, here!” He held up a piece of paper and began reading it aloud.

     “Name: Rowan Felix de Albion.

     Parents: Viscount Sir Hugo and Viscountess Ingrid de Albion.

     Parental Status: Both deceased.”

     He shook his head. The kid had certainly had a rough go-around.

     “Cause of father’s death: KIA, storming of Darigan Citatdel during the Second War

     Cause of mother’s death: malnutrition shortly before the War of the Orb.”

     A gust of wind blew through Danner’s office, blowing some papers off his desk. “Drat!” he exclaimed. He grumbled as he began picking them up, “The storming of the Citadel…,” he mumbled. “There weren’t that many of us. Could he really have been there?” He placed the papers back on his desk before returning to his bookshelf. “Only one way to find out.”

     He climbed the small step stool propped against it and began perusing the volumes on the top shelf. There it was. He pulled a thick book entitled, Battlefield Reports from the Second War.

     Stepping down carefully, Danner placed the heavy book on his desk with an audible thump. And there went the papers again. “For the love of—.” Danner huffed as he rolled his eyes. He’d deal with this later. Right now, he had a riveting book to read.

     Knock, knock.

     Rowan scowled, amber eyes narrowing. His body tensed as he shifted on the bed. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Couldn’t they see he was exhausted from yesterday’s events? He continued staring holes into the wall.

     Knock, knock.

     “Go away, Mr. Perfect,” he bit out. “I’m not talking to you or Four Eyes today.”

     “Rowan, it’s me Kayla,” a muffled voice replied from the other side of the door. “You need to take your last dose of counter potion. Please open the door.”

     Rowan moaned. Well, at least it them. “Give me a sec,” he grumbled.” The Green Ogrin swung his legs over the bed and made his way to the door. “You didn’t bring Mr. Perfect and Four Eyes with you, right?”

     “No, I didn’t,” she answered in a clipped tone. “And don’t call them those names either. They’re my friends.”

     “Too bad,” came the surly reply.

     There was a pause before Kayla responded. “Fine,” she relented. “But don’t blame me if you get turned into a Mortog,” the red Zafara threatened.

     Rowan glared as he opened the door, “Okay, okay. You win, Fizzy. You win. Let’s get this over with. I want to be left alone.”

     The tense muscles in Kayla’s face relaxed as she nodded. “Can I come in?”

     “Sure, whatever.”

     Rowan went silent as he sat down on the bed. He scrutinized the Red Zafara as she sifted through her bag. After a few seconds, she produced a vial containing lime-green liquid.

     “Here we go,” she said. “Drink up.”

     “Why that colour?” Rowan asked as he stared in disgust at the vial.

     Kayla shrugged, “I wanted to experiment a bit.” And distract you from the pain. At the very least you’re disgusted at the vial, not your father, she thought.

     Rowan’s lip curled as he exhaled roughly. “Give me that,” he took the vial from Kayla’s hand and downed it in one gulp. “So, where are…,” he paused, “Jeran and Lisha anyway? It’s story time.” He grinned mockingly.

     Kayla flinched at the utter venom in his tone. “Rowan—.”

     He balled his right hand in a tight fist and growled, “Don’t. I’ve already said I’ve gone too far.”

     “I…” her words trailed off. “Jeran told me you might want a break. So, they sent me instead.” She began fishing through her bag again, eventually producing a notebook and pen. “But Lisha did ask me to take notes. I’m going to share them with Jeran, too.” She pulled up the nearby desk chair and sat down across from Rowan.

     The Green Ogrin sighed. Those two were more considerate than he’d thought. “Got it.” He inhaled deeply as tears began to trickle down his face, “Give me time.”

     Kayla nodded, “Of course.”

     Six months later

     Desmond wiped the sweat from his brow as he paced nervously in his older brother’s living room. The last letter he had received from Hugo had been 3 weeks ago.

     “Dear, if you keep this up, you’ll wear grooves into the floor,” Elaine tried to joke.

     Desmond stared at his wife blankly. The Yellow Kougra abruptly shook his head, “I’m sorry, Elaine.” He sat down next to her on a nearby couch. “I just… I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach.” He swallowed, “It could just be the stress of the job. There have been a lot more injured soldiers and civilians coming in. The medical tents are already overflowing.”

     Elaine laid her head on her husband’s broad shoulder, “I have no doubt that’s certainly a part of it.” She raised her head to place her hand under Desmond’s chin, turning it to face her, “Be honest. Are you worried you haven’t seen your brother among the wounded?”

     “You know me too well, love,” he admitted. “I would never wish harm on Hugo.” The Yellow Kougra tensed, “But seeing him in the medical tent would at least mean he was alive.”

     Elaine bit her lip. “Let’s stop such talk, dear. Rowan might overhear us.”

     “It’s been 3 weeks, Elaine,” Desmond continued. He twisted his clasped hands, “He normally writes to us every other week.”

     “I know, Desmond. Please…,” she began to plead. “No more. Your worrying breaks my heart. And…” She sniffled, “Thinking about Hugo is going to make me cry. He’s been nothing less than a brother to me.”

     Desmond held Elaine close, encircling her in a tight embrace. He stared deeply into his wife’s sapphire eyes. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m going to cry.” The Green Zafara nodded and snuggled into his chest. The Yellow Kougra swallowed hard as he felt her shoulders heave. His vision began to blur. “Hugo,” he rasped, “you’d better come back to us.”

     A few days later

     “Hi-YAH!” Rowan let out a mighty battle cry as he swung his wooden training sword. One more enemy down! He pivoted, spun on his right foot, and thrust his weapon forward. And another! The little, Green Ogrin grinned.

     Growl

     Rowan patted his stomach. Beating all those bad guys sure made him hungry. Maybe Ms. Alice would let him have some sweets again. He licked his lips in anticipation. What Auntie and Uncle didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

     An hour later

     The 9-year-old slouched in the kitchen chair, licking his lips again as he savoured the last crumbs. That slice of chocolate cake was just what he’d wanted, and the fact he was enjoying it under Auntie and Uncle’s noses made it taste even better. “Hey, Ms. Alice, can I have another slice?” he piped up.

     Ms. Alice, a portly Yellow Chia, with frizzy red hair, shook her head. “Sorry, hon. I can’t. Your aunt and uncle will be furious with me if I let you ruin your dinner even more. Besides, I need to keep working on tonight’s meal.”

     Rowan bounced off the chair to tap her arm. The little, Green Ogrin gave her his best Puppyblew eyes.

      “Pleeaassee,” he begged.

     The Yellow Chia shot him a withering look, “No, Rowan. You were lucky I let you have that first slice. Or do you want me to give you extra veggies at dinner?” she threatened.

     Rowan’s eyes widened in fear, “I’m sorry, Ms. Alice! I’m sorry! I’ll leave you alone now.”

     The Yellow Chia chuckled in amusement as she saw Rowan dash from the kitchen.

     Another hour later

     Knock, knock

     Rowan’s ears perked up as he heard the door knocker. Finally, some more action! He’d been getting bored. The Green Ogrin mustered all his strength and threw open the door eagerly.

     The 9-year-old’s excitement grew as he saw who it was: a red Gelert in resplendent, silver armour. His eyes gleamed as he saw the royal crest on the chest plate. “Cool, you’re a knight! A real knight!”

     The red Gelert tried to smile, “Excuse me, young master. Is your mother home?”

     “There’s something we must…tell her,” added a second voice. It belonged to a blue Techo dressed in black breeches, a starched white shirt, and a black doublet.

     “Actually, my mom is—”

     “His mother is no longer with us,” Elaine interrupted. She placed a hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “My husband and I are watching him for now. He’s my nephew. In any case, how may I help you?”

     The red Gelert looked at his armoured feet momentarily before meeting Elaine’s gaze, “I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this, but you deserve to know.”

     The Green Zafara’s heart dropped to her stomach as she heard the solemn knell of the knight’s words, “No…” She gripped Rowan’s shoulder harder.

     The blue Techo nodded and sighed, “I’m afraid so, milady. Sir Hugo fell in the last battle. This has been confirmed by multiple, surviving eyewitnesses. We don’t know all the details, but we will inform you as soon as we do.”

     “Th-thank you, sirs,” the Green Zafara shut the door without another word.

     Chocking back a sob, she released Rowan’s shoulder and brought her hand to her mouth. How would she tell Desmond?

     “Auntie…?” Rowan asked, sharp pain in his voice. “Is Daddy—?"

     The Green Zafara threw her arms around the little, Green Ogrin and held him in a vice-like grip. Her sobs bursting forth in a torrent of anguish.

     Rowan stared at Kayla with bloodshot eyes. His tears had dried up. “She didn’t have to say anything. I knew from the instant she took me in her arms that Father was gone.”

     Kayla stared at her notepad. The Red Zafara closed her eyes for a few moments before staring into his eyes, “I’m… I’m sorry, Rowan,” was all she could say.

     “Don’t be, Fizzy. You didn’t do anything,” Rowan replied. He smiled hollowly. “The worst part was hearing Uncle Desmond’ howls later that evening.”

     Kayla took off her deep blue wizard’s hat, sat it on her lap, and began fiddling with its brim, “I can only imagine.”

     This was agony, but Rowan wasn’t stopping. If only he would! However, the Red Zafara feared a wrathful response if she tried to stop him.

     “Let’s end this,” Rowan droned robotically. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

     “If you want to, Rowan,” Kayla responded softly.

     Rowan scowled at the Red Zafara, “I don’t want to, Fizzy. I have to.” His face fell, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Kayla. I’m sorry.”

     Kayla got up from the desk chair and sat next to him on the bed. “Please don’t worry about it, Rowan.”

     “Thanks. I guess,” he stared at her. “Uncle Desmond was determined to make a knight of me after that. Some rubbish about Father’s ‘legacy’.” The Green Ogrin waggled his fingers. “He even gave me a real sword for my tenth birthday.”

     The Red Zafara winced, “So, what happened afterwards?”

     Rowan sighed and looked at his lap, “I ran away. I waited until it was late at night and snuck out the window. I wasn’t going to be a knight then, and I’m not going to be one now.”

     The sheer pain in his face broke Kayla’s heart. No wonder he hated knights. I can’t leave him like this, she thought. Impulsively, she drew him into a hug. “I was thinking about going into the nearby forest to look for potion ingredients sometime soon,” she began. “Maybe you can join me?”

     The Green Ogrin buried his face in her shoulder, “Sure,” he choked out.

     Meanwhile

     Jeran watched Sir Pervical practice his sword drills. The azure-furred Lupe held up a hand, signaling the white Ixi to stop. “You’re getting better, Sir Percival. However, your arms are still too tense.”

     The white Ixi grinned, “Thank you, Lord Jeran. But I think the glaive is always going to be my number one.”

     Jeran smiled back, “An army’s strength is in its versatility, Sir Percival. And the pole arms hardly get the credit they deserve.”

     “I couldn’t agree more,” he replied.

     “One more go, Sir Percival,” Jeran ordered.

     “Jeran, wait,” a new voice interrupted.

     Jeran turned around to find Danner, a downcast expression on his face. “Danner? What are you doing here? You don’t normally start training until 3:00 p.m.”

     Danner shook his head, “I’m not here to train. There’s something you need to know about Viscount Sir Hugo.”

     “Rowan’s father?” Jearn asked.

     Sir Percival eyed the two before silently retreating. This didn’t sound good. Not to mention it was none of his business.

     “Yes,” Danner answered. “Let’s go to my office.”

     “I’m right behind you,” Jeran answered.

     “What’s wrong, Danner?” Jeran asked. “This isn’t like you at all.”

     The Blue Wocky said nothing as he sat down in his office chair. He gestured to Jeran to do the same.

     Jeran sat down in a chair on other side of Danner’s desk. “Again, Danner. What’s wrong?”

     “We were there,” Danner said finally.

     “Where?” the azure-furred Lupe frowned. “I don’t understand.”

     Danner sighed. He stared past his friend, “We were there when Sir Hugo died.”

     Jeran frowned even more, “How? The force that stormed the Citadel was purposefully small. How do you know?”

     Danner stared at the book on his desk, Battlefield Reports from the Second War, before pushing it towards Jeran. “It’s all in here, but that’s not why I know,” he answered cryptically.

     Jeran stood and placed both hands on the desk, “Danner, snap out of it,” he ordered. “You’re scaring me now. Just spit it out.”

     The distant expression in Danner’s eyes ignited with phantasmic pain, “I saw what happened, Jeran. I saw it with my own eyes.”

To be continued…