The castle of Lord Bellard Lothston was not at all what Will had expected. He was used to seeing grand castles, with high towers and sturdy walls; flags and banners billowing on the battlements, and men keeping the watch. This castle was old, and bordering on decrepit. The towers were tall enough, though one stood at an angle, and another had a large hole in it.

The battlement stood. That was all Will could say for it. There were no banners, no flags, and no men manning the walls. The small town beneath the castle seemed a little more promising. They could see dozens of people walking about, and twice as many horses. It certainly didn’t look like it held one hundred and fifty people, however.

Lord Bellard’s men had not ridden out to meet them in the woods, as Maryk had thought. They rode all the way up to the town before anyone came out to greet them.

Four riders with old armor and crooked spears rode out as they approached the walls. Only the man in front looked like a knight, and not one of much renown at that. He was tall and muscled, and his face was scarred, with a thick, black mane of a beard. When he demanded to know who they were, and what they wanted, Maryk rode forward.

He was already dressed the part. They all were. Maryk had put on his finest tunic; green and black, with the crested sigil of his former house. He had straightened his long hair, and even shaved the scruff off his face. He looked every bit the proper knight that he was.

“I am Ser Maryk of Willow’s Den,” Maryk pronounced, in a formal manner. “With me ride Ser Gilbert of Pennytree, and Ser Henrick of the Hallows. We wish to take shelter, if Lord Bellard will permit us.”

“And the children?” The tall, scarred knight asked in a gruff voice that matched his face. He was a head taller than his companions, even on a horse.

“My squire,” Maryk said, pointing to Will. “A serving girl,” he pointed to Sasha. “Ser Gilbert’s bastard, and a little lordling we are sworn to protect.”

“A serving girl,” the knight mused. His eyes lingered on Sasha’s face longer than Will liked, and his dry lips twisting into a crooked smile. “Which lord’s son is he?” The man asked, his eyes going down from Sasha’s face to Peter, who was sitting in front of her on the horse.

“A dead lord,” Maryk replied, not untruthfully. “We mean to take him to his uncle, in hopes of a ransom. But the boy needs rest, and shelter. We crossed the mountains, and it took much out of the young ones.”

“It’s foolish to ride with children,” the knight grumbled, turning his gaze back to Maryk. “Foolish to cross the mountains too.”

“Perhaps,” Maryk said. Will could tell he was struggling to hide his disdain for the man. “But we ride, nonetheless. May we take refuge in your castle, Ser?”

“You may ask Lord Bellard,” the tall knight grunted. “He’ll see you in the great hall. The lads and the girl will stay in the town.”

Maryk nodded, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything more from this man. He hoped that Lord Bellard would be more welcoming.

They followed the riders into the town. The tall knight pointed a long, bony finger at a stable as they passed it, and Will turned his horse, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed in the castle. Gilbert rode beside him, with Jon. Sasha came as well, while Maryk and Henrick followed after the knight.

The stablemaster was a bald, pockmarked man with a low hanging gut and twisted, yellow teeth. He looked like he wanted to yell at Will when he saw him, but then he saw Gilbert.

“We wish to stable our horses for the night,” Gilbert said in his deep, booming voice. The stablemaster’s angry look faltered as Gilbert spoke, and he nodded reluctantly.

“Two coppers a horse,” the man said in a high, weaselly voice that didn’t much match his appearance. “One if the lads help clean the stable.”

“Aye, they will at that,” Gilbert nodded. He shot Will a look that said not to argue, and Will nodded. Inwardly he was shouting at being made to do stable work, but he knew he couldn’t protest in front of this man.

“Get to it then, lads,” Gilbert ordered. Jon leapt from the horse, and quickly went to work. Will could tell Jon was used to this sort of work. Will hesitated a moment longer, trying to maintain his dignity. Gilbert shot him a stern look, and he dismounted and joined Jon. He took a heavy iron pitchfork and began raking mud and manure into a wheelbarrow.

“I could find use for the girl as well,” the stablemaster said, eyeing Sasha with a licentious grin. “Mayhap you need not pay anything for my stable tonight.”

“No,” Gilbert said, with such finality that the stablemaster shuddered, scowled, and finally skulked off. A boy of about Will’s age came out and began helping as he and Jon cleaned the stable.

Sasha sat atop her horse, with Peter nestled in her arms. She tried her best not to look out of place. She had also tried to prepare for their greeting here. She had cut her long black hair that she had been growing for years. The shining, black waves of raven hair that had hung about her shoulders was now a short, cropped mess. It made her look more like a boy, but she could not hide her face. She did her best to purse her lips, in an attempt to look niggardly, and she bent her head forward, trying to give herself a double chin that wouldn’t quite come. There was nothing she could do about her eyes however, and she had seen the way the men were staring at her already.

Will hadn’t had to do nearly as much to disguise himself. He too had cut his hair. His hair had not been nearly as long as Sasha’s, but now it was cut nearly down to his scalp. He wore tattered clothes, and had made sure to dirty up his face a bit. No one seemed to be looking twice at him.

Jon hadn’t had to change a thing. He was already a lowborn orphan from the gutters. He wore the same ragged clothes they had found him in, and he didn’t need to pretend to fit in. Doing the stable work seemed to be almost a privilege for him, and Will tried to mimic his attitude as they worked.

Inside the castle, Maryk and Henrick were brought through dank, dusty halls filled with cobwebs. When they reached the great hall, they found Lord Bellard waiting for them, sitting in an ornate, yet slightly disheveled seat.

The hall was by no means great, though Maryk would never say so to its lord. It was large, large enough to host two hundred men if needed. But it was dank and musty as the outer halls had been. There were cobwebs in here as well, and bats sleeping in the dark, shadowy corners of the ceiling. A fire burned in the great hearth, though it gave little warmth to the room.

Maryk strode gracefully up the hall, with Henrick following close at his side. When they reached the head, they both knelt, bowing their heads in respect to Lord Bellard.

“A black gull on a sea of green,” Bellard said in a high, nasally voice. His beady eyes were fixed on the sigil on Maryk’s chest. “I have seen this before.”

“I have stayed here once before, my lord,” Maryk said, rising to his feet. “I was in the company of Lord Denton Costayne last I came through these woods.”

“Costayne, a fine man,” Bellard nodded with approval. “How is he these days?”

“Regretfully dead, my lord,” Maryk said, bowing his head again. “We are simply three knights in our travels, and we wish to stay here a night. If you would have us, my lord.”

Lord Bellard stared down at Maryk in silence for a moment. He didn’t look all that much like a lord, except perhaps for his stomach. He was immensely fat, and balding. His pimpled cheeks were primmed, though not enough to hide the pox. His short, stumpy fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of his seat of authority, as he stared down his pug nose at Maryk. He had on a large, yellow tunic that almost managed to cover his belly, and a yellow cape that hung about his broad, slumping shoulders.

“What brings you on the road in these trying times, Ser?” Bellard asked.

“We travel north, my lord,” Maryk answered. He knew not to tell Bellard too much, but he had to tell him some. “We carry a message, meant for Lord Selwyn in the north. We also have a lordling with us, taken from the capital.”

“You fled the capital, then?” Bellard asked, looking more interested.

“Aye, my lord,” Maryk nodded. “We did not take part in the fighting. But we took with us the son of a dead lord. We are taking him to his uncle in the north, for ransom.”

“A profitable venture, no doubt,” Bellard said with a smug look. “You will require rooms then?”

“If it pleases you, my lord,” Maryk said, bowing his head once again. “The lordling has grown weak in our travels. He requires a proper night of rest, and a bath if possible. I would spend the night with him, and my fellows can sleep wherever it pleases you, my lord.”

“Is it just the four of you then?” Bellard asked. Maryk could tell he already knew about Sasha and Will. One of the men who had met them outside had run ahead of them, and clearly told Lord Bellard how many they were.

“No, my lord,” Maryk said. “We are three knights, two squires, a tavern wench made serving girl, and the little lordling.” Bellard nodded contently, Maryk’s number matching the one he had been given. His bulky chin rolled about as his round head bobbed up and down.

“Very well, Ser Maryk,” Bellard nodded. “You may stay the night in my castle. I trust you will join me for dinner.”

“Of course, my lord,” Maryk nodded. “Most gratefully. We have had little more than carrion birds and charred coneys these past weeks. We will be most eager to sup with you.”

“Good.” Maryk could tell Lord Bellard was pleased with his answers, and he felt more confident than he had when talking to the tall knight. “I will instruct my cooks to prepare a small feast for us,” Bellard went on, looking eager at the prospect of a feast. “Your squires may join us as well, Ser. And the serving girl. And the little lordling, of course,” he added.

“You are most gracious, my lord,” Maryk bowed again. “Lord Denton always spoke very highly of your generosity.” Bellard nodded dismissively, waving his hand about in a lofty motion.

“Take rest, Ser Maryk,” Bellard said. “Give the young one a bath. We shall break bread once night has fallen.”

“You have our thanks, my lord,” Maryk nodded. “You have been most amenable.” Bellard nodded again, and then got up from his seat, grunting loudly, and using both hands to hoist himself out of the chair. He waddled off, and then Maryk turned and nodded to Henrick, and they left the great hall together.

The two knights walked out to the stable, where they were amused to find Will shoveling mulch into a big cart. Maryk smirked at him, and he could tell Will wanted to say something, but knew he couldn’t.

“Lord Bellard will host us all for dinner this evening,” Maryk informed them. “He has allowed for Peter to have a bath as well.” Sasha nodded and smiled, and Peter smiled too. He had been asking to help Jon, but Sasha wouldn’t let him. It wouldn’t look proper to let a little lordling do stable work. That didn’t make Will any happier, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I’ll take you and the boy into the castle,” Maryk said to Sasha. “The rest of you, clean yourselves as best you can before supper. Lord Bellard will be joining us himself.”

Maryk led Sasha and Peter along the small town road, and into the castle. Gilbert and Henrick stood about, watching Will and Jon work with amusement. Will wished he could put them all in their places; the knights, the stablemaster, even this Lord Bellard, but he kept his mouth shut and did his part.

When night fell, Henrick led them all into the castle. Will had done his best to freshen up from a barrel of water in the stable. He could still smell the stink on him, but he knew that was going to help him blend in. Jon looked positively thrilled to be feasting in a castle. Will wondered if the boy had ever had such an honor before, and guessed he hadn’t.

The knights had put on their finest attire. Gilbert wore a heavy doublet, adorned with the silver stag of his father’s house, weathered slightly from the long years he had borne it. Will thought it looked a little silly stretched across his wide chest. Gilbert had managed to make his grizzled, grey mane less of a tangled mess, but it still looked far less elegant beside Maryk.

Henrick looked much finer, with a freshly made tunic of fine cloth, brown on gold, without any sigil, and a heavy surcoat slung about his shoulders. His short crop of dark, brown curls was combed to one side. He looked more noble than Will had ever seen him.

When they entered the hall, Will was a bit disappointed, but he told himself he shouldn’t have expected anything more. Lord Bellard’s great hall matched the outside of his castle. The walls were high, the hearth wide, but there was no grandeur here. It was not a hall meant for truly great feasts, nor guests. It was a far cry better than the dirt they had been sleeping in of late, however.

Will and Jon were seated at the far end of a long table, with the other squires. The knights sat at the main table, with Lord Bellard and his own men, while much of the town of Lothston sat along the tables between. Will wished he could sit at the main table too, and hear what they were saying, but he would have to make do with the boys beside him.

When Sasha and Peter entered the hall, a hush fell over the room. Peter was dressed in fine, little leathers, given by Lord Bellard. His yellow robes matched Bellard’s, and he looked happier than he had in weeks. It was clear from the sight of him that he had been bathed. His skin looked fresh, his face lighter. His long, black hair that had been matted and tangled now hung about his face in fine waves, as it was meant to. He looked like the happy, little lordling that he was meant to be.

It was Sasha that had brought the hush, however. Lord Bellard had sent his own serving girls to help her, and they had done a fine job. All the work Sasha had done to look common had been undone in an instant. Her short, cropped black hair, which had made her look more like a boy, now looked pretty once again. Will thought it showed off the sharp features of her face even better than her long hair had. She was wearing a yellow dress given to her by Lord Bellard, and it hugged her frame just the way a fine dress was meant to. She knew she wasn’t supposed to look like this, not now, but it felt good, nonetheless. She didn’t fail to notice how many of the men in the hall stared at her as she walked Peter over to where Maryk sat with Lord Bellard. She also noticed the stunned way in which Henrick was looking at her.

“You must have paid a pretty penny for this one, eh,” Lord Bellard teased, his eyes going up and down the dress he had given Sasha.

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“The daughter of an old friend,” Maryk said politely. “She wished to leave the capital once the trouble started, and we needed help with the boy.”

“The boy, of course,” Bellard chuckled, and his men laughed as well. They were all staring at Sasha eagerly. “And a fine, little lordling he is, isn’t he? Are you hungry then, lad?”

“Yes, my lord,” Peter said, with all the curtesy he had been taught back home. “Do you have any bread?”

“Of course,” Bellard laughed. “And honey to go with it. Would you like some?”

“Oh yes,” Peter nodded enthusiastically. “I haven’t had any bread since we left home.”

“I'm sorry you had to leave your home, dear boy,” Bellard said, not unkindly. “A terrible mess that was.” Peter looked down at the floor, hiding his eyes, but he nodded slowly.

“We needn’t talk about any of that unpleasantness though,” Bellard said. “Tell me about your travels, Ser. You must have come through the mountains.”

“Aye, my lord,” Maryk nodded. “Nineteen days it took us. And cold it was.”

“Oh yes,” Bellard laughed. “It’s always cold up there. You are not the first weary travelers to take shelter in my castle after passing through those mountains.”

Sasha and Peter went to sit at the far end of the table, closer to Will, but Bellard demanded that Peter sit beside him. Sasha led the boy over, and sat him down, and then took her own place, farther down the table. She could only hope that Peter wouldn’t say anything he shouldn’t. Their knights were seated beside him, so Maryk could intervene if necessary, but Peter could still say the wrong thing.

Will watched from his place far down the hall, wishing he could be closer to the knights. He had sat at many feasts, always at the main table, and he loved listening to knights talk. They always spoke of adventures, of great battles and long journeys. Instead, Will had to listen to a scrawny boy not much older than himself tell tales of common work. Will pretended to listen, but really he was just trying to see what was happening at the front.

Sasha sat beside two other ladies, neither of whom looked especially noble. They were nice though. A young lady named Alys, who turned out to be Lord Bellard’s eldest daughter, began asking Sasha questions, first about their travels, then about Peter, and finally about the knights.

“It must have been cold up in the mountains,” Alys said as she smeared honey onto a piece of bread. “I've always heard stories about how terrible the pass is.”

“Aye, it was terrible cold,” Sasha nodded, trying to sound common. “Most of the time I couldn’t even feel my fingers.”

“At least you had knights protecting you,” Alys said. She was staring up at the main table with a wistful look.

“There’s not much to protect from up there,” Sasha told her. “Just snow and rocks really.”

“Still, quite nice to look at, your knights,” Alys sighed.

“Aye, Ser Maryk is a handsome man,” Sasha agreed, glancing over at the big table where the knights sat with Lord Bellard.

“I meant the skinny one,” Alys giggled with a bashful grin.

“And I’ll have the big one,” the older woman sitting next to Sasha chimed in. “It’s settled then. Now we can begin our plotting.” Sasha joined in Alys’s laughter. It felt nice to be laughing and joking again. It felt like home.

At the head table the knights listened as Lord Bellard prattled on. Maryk feigned interest as he listened to Bellard boast of his house’s past riches and glories. He could tell most of it wasn’t true, or embellished at best, but he nodded along as Bellard rambled. Henrick felt a bit out of place. He had not been a knight for very long, and he wasn’t used to being feasted by a lord, even one as lowly as Bellard. Gilbert just sat there, seeming every bit the grim, old knight he was.

When the food finally came, Bellard’s own serving girls brought the food before Lord Bellard, who nodded, and grabbed some off the plates. They set the food down in front of the knights, and then went down the tables, giving a little less to everyone as they went. By the time they got to Will, there was little more than chicken legs and stale bread.

He frowned down at the food, feeling insulted. But he could see Jon tearing into it hungrily beside him, as if it were the finest meal he had ever eaten. Will took a bite of the chicken, and realized just how hungry he was, and then dove in as Jon was.

“So,” Lord Bellard said to Maryk as he tore into the thick leg of a roast turkey, its juices dripping down his pudgy hand. “You mean to travel farther north then?”

“Aye, my lord,” Maryk nodded, eating his own turkey leg with far more grace and dignity than the slovenly lord. “In time. First we must go east, up the old Merritt path to the river. Our destination lies even farther north than that, though.”

“To the young lad’s uncle, you said?” Bellard asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaving a greasy stain on his chin.

“Aye,” Maryk nodded. “The only family the little lad has left. We expect him to pay us well for the boy’s safe return.”

“I'm sure,” Bellard nodded. “A fine, little lordling he seems. I have no doubt he is sorely missed.”

“It may be that his uncle doesn’t even know that the boy is alive,” Maryk said. “We left the capital at great haste.”

“Awful mess,” Bellard said, shaking his head. “Needless death. And you took no part in the fighting?”

“None,” Maryk lied. He still didn’t know where Bellard’s loyalties lay, and he meant to tread cautiously. “We took the boy after his father was killed, and left the city as fast as we could. Then we rode hard for the mountains.”

“Do you think anyone in the capital is looking for the boy?” Bellard asked. He was doing a good job at hiding his interest, but Maryk could still sense it.

“I doubt it,” Maryk said, biting into his turkey again. “Like as not, they will think him dead like all the rest. And his uncle lives far enough north that no one south will know the difference. So long as we keep moving, our journey should go without incident.”

“Gods willing,” Bellard nodded. “Do you truly mean to be off on the morrow then?”

“Aye,” Maryk nodded. “The boy needed rest, and a wash. And he has had it, at your kindness, my lord. But we really should be off as soon as we can. We’ll wake at dawn, and be off not long after.”

“A pity,” Bellard sighed, moving on to his second fat turkey leg. “I could make good use of fine knights like yourself. I've had a bit of a problem with poachers in my woods of late.”

“Aye,” Maryk nodded. “We came across them in the woods.”

“And they did not harass you?” Bellard asked, looking shocked. “For two moons now, they have been harassing everyone who passes through my woods. It has sent many of the traders away. It’s becoming quite a costly nuisance.”

“They did not see us, my lord,” Maryk said.

“But you saw them?” Bellard asked, looking intrigued now.

“I didn’t,” Maryk admitted. “Ser Henrick saw them, and we avoided them.”

“How did these men not see you, Ser Henrick?” Bellard asked. The young knight looked a little surprised at being addressed by the lord. He swallowed his mouthful of bread before answering.

“I can be stealthy, my lord,” Henrick said, smiling his awkward, crooked smile. “They were not especially alert, my lord. It was not so difficult to avoid detection.”

“Proper knights you are,” Bellard nodded with approval. “You could help me clear out my woods. It would not take more than a few days, I wager.”

“Your own knights cannot handle these men?” Maryk said. The tall knight with the beard and the scar bristled at that, and glared over at Maryk.

“Only Ser Gaspar is a true knight,” Bellard said, gesturing to the tall knight glaring at Maryk. “The rest are just lads with swords. But with you, I am sure they could make easy work of these brigands.”

“Were that we could, my lord,” Maryk said. “But we really must be off. Soldiers from the capital will be coming this way sooner or late. It is best we not be here when they do.”

“Do you truly think lowly soldiers will recognize your little lordling at a mere glance, Ser?” Bellard asked, looking down at Peter. “Surely they will pass through without giving you a second look.”

“Perhaps,” Maryk said with a frown, putting his turkey leg down. He didn’t like where this was going. “But perhaps not. Best not to find out, my lord.”

“Nonsense,” Bellard guffawed. “I will hide the boy away for you, should anyone come looking. And I will pay you well for your service, Ser. Help me with this problem of mine, and I will give you gold, and whatever else you might need to make your long travels more comfortable.”

“We will consider it, my lord,” Maryk said. He had no intention of staying, but he didn’t want to be rude to the man while they ate at his table.

“Good,” Bellard nodded happily. “Come see me in the morning. I am sure I can convince you to stay. And it will not take long, Ser. There are not so many scoundrels in my woods. Enough to make trouble for me. But few enough that you could rid me of my woes in a matter of days.”

“We will consider it,” Maryk said again. Bellard nodded as if Maryk had agreed. Maryk glanced at Gilbert, who looked no more pleased than he was. And the tall Ser Gaspar was still glaring at Maryk angrily.

“You would like to stay here for a few days, wouldn’t you little lad?” Bellard said to Peter. Peter’s mouth was stuffed with bread and honey, and he chewed for a moment before swallowing.

“Yes,” Peter said enthusiastically. “The woods are too cold. I like staying in castles better.”

“And so you shall, little lord,” Bellard laughed heartily, rubbing his greasy hand through Peter’s hair. “Your gallant knights can help fight off these robbers and poachers that linger in my woods, and then you can be off to see your uncle again.”

“Father always said that poachers and robbers deserve the axe,” Peter said.

“A wise man,” Bellard nodded. “Who was your lord father, lad?”

“Best not to say,” Maryk said before Peter could answer. They had instructed Peter on what to say if asked, but Maryk didn’t want him to. He could tell the boy was already too comfortable around Lord Bellard, and if he said the wrong thing, it could mean trouble for all of them.

“Must have been an important man,” Bellard said, eyeing Peter carefully.

“Oh yes,” Peter agreed, taking another big bite of bread. “He was…”

“Peter,” Maryk said sharply, and the boy stopped talking. He glanced at Maryk, and then blushed and looked down at his food.

“Very well, I meant no offense, Ser,” Bellard said. “We needn’t speak of the boy’s father. Though, if you could simply help…”

“Aye, we will help you,” Maryk said with a pained smile. He didn’t like it, but he wanted Bellard to ease off. “Two days, that should be enough.”

“Excellent,” Bellard said cheerfully. “To you then, fine knights, and your little lord.” He raised his large goblet, spilling wine over its side, and toasted them all. The knights all raised their own cups, and drank.

Will was watching it all dourly from his place far down at the other end of the hall. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could see Maryk’s expression growing colder. Peter looked happy enough, which made Will smile, but the knights looked most displeased. Will wished he could hear what the fat lord was saying, but all he could hear was the droning on of the boy next to him.

“Your master is going to beat you,” the boy said. Will looked over, and realized he was talking to him.

“What,” Will said, slowly becoming aware that the other boys were all staring at him.

“You shouldn’t stare at the knights and lord so much,” the pimpled boy said in a scolding manner. “Your master will beat you if he sees. And everyone can see. What, do you think yourself a knight?” The other boys all laughed along with the tall, scrawny boy that seemed to be their leader.

“I will be,” Will said, grinding his teeth together. He had always dreamed of being a knight. It was what he had been born to be. But everything was different now. “Someday,” he added, as the other boys laughed at him.

“You’ll have to sprout a foot,” the boy next to him teased. “And grow muscles. You couldn’t swing a sword half your size with those puny arms.”

“I can swing a sword better than you,” Will shot back. “And ride a horse, and shoot a bow. I will be a knight, when I'm old enough.”

“We’ll see,” the tall boy said with a smirk. “How long have you been a squire then?”

“Two years,” Will answered, after a moment’s thought. It seemed like a good number.

“All for him?” The boy asked, nodding his head towards Maryk.

“Yes,” Will nodded. “He was friends with my father. He took me on after my father died.” That part at least was true.

“How did your father die?” Another boy asked. He was a skinny boy around Will’s age, with shaggy, brown hair and a crooked nose, clearly bent from being broken. He had been the one helping them in the stable.

“Fighting,” Will said sullenly. “How else?”

“My father died from the fever,” the boy said, staring down at his half-eaten bread.

“Are you a squire too then?” Will asked. This boy didn’t seem as obnoxious as the tall one.

“I will be,” the boy perked up. “Once we have a second knight. I act as a squire for the older boys. But I can’t be a squire until I have a knight to squire for. And Ser Gasper is the only knight here.”

“Squire is only a title,” Will said. “Do these men ever train you?”

“Sometimes,” the boy nodded. “When they don’t have anything better to do.”

“Well then you're squire enough,” Will said with a wan smile. “You tend to fighting men, and learn from them when you can. That’s all a squire is, really.”

“You don’t know much,” the tall boy scoffed, looking displeased with where the conversation had gone. “It takes a lot more to be a squire than tending to simple commoners with swords. Elsewise, every stable boy and blacksmith’s hand would be a squire.” He laughed loudly, as did a few of the others, and then they got up and left, leaving Will and Jon with the skinny boy and two others.

“Don’t listen to him,” Will said once they were gone. “You can be a squire if you want. My names Will, by the way.”

“I'm Ben,” the boy said, looking quite pleased at having made a friend in Will.

“I'm Jon,” Jon added excitedly. The two older boys laughed, and Will rustled Jon’s hair. They sat chatting happily for a while. Will even forgot to watch the knights and lord seated at the main table. He was enjoying getting to joke and laugh like a child again. Then the other boys came back, and the laughter died down as they took their seats again.

“So, you come from the capital, eh?” The tall boy asked. Will could tell just from his tone that he wanted to pick a fight.

“That’s right,” Will nodded.

“And you rode through the mountains?”

“Aye, we rode through the mountains,” Will confirmed. He didn’t like this boy, and he had to refrain from doing something he knew he shouldn’t.

“You're one lucky bastard,” the boy said with a smirk. “Both of you are. I would kill to get a chance to ride with that one.” Will looked up, and followed the boy’s beady eyes, until they found his sister. Sasha was talking to the girl beside her, and looked happier than Will had seen her in weeks. He looked back at the boy, and saw him ogling Sasha blatantly. Will clenched his fists under the table.

“What’s the matter,” the boy jested, snickering at Will. “You don’t like girls?” Will glared at him, the muscles in his jaw working fast. Jon was staring up at Will with wide eyes, clearly aware of Will’s inner struggle going on. “No, that’s not it,” the boy went on, laughing louder. “You like her, don’t you? You think a girl like that would ever give a little weakling like you a chance. Those knights of yours will be having her, if they haven’t already.”

Will couldn’t hold back any longer. Without getting up from his seat, he lunged at the boy, and struck him hard in the face. Will felt his bony fist connect squarely with the boy’s nose. The boy let out a startled cry, and blood began to flow down his face. Someone let out a scream, and then Will came back to himself. The boy was on the floor, clutching at his face as blood poured through his fingers.

And then Will felt a hand on the back of his raggedy clothes. He felt himself being lifted from the table and thrown to the floor. Will looked up, and saw Maryk standing over him, glaring down at him with fire in his eyes.

“Out!” Maryk barked. “Now!” Will didn’t protest. He scrambled to his feet and ran out of the hall. He ran out of the castle, and back to the stables, and fell down into the pile of hay he had shoveled earlier. He felt tears on his cheeks, and was glad no one was there to see it. Then he noticed Jon, sitting in the dirt next to him.

“He deserved it,” Jon said quietly, looking cautiously at Will.

“I'm a fool,” Will said, trying to stop the tears from coming. “Ser Maryk will skin my hide for that.” Jon didn’t say anything, and Will could tell he agreed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Will sighed, his breath catching only slightly. “We’ll be gone in the morning, and I won’t ever have to see him again.” Jon stayed silent, but nodded his agreement.

“Apologies, my lord,” Maryk said once he sat back down at the table. “The lad has a short temper. I will discipline him; you have my word.”

“Think nothing of it, Ser,” Bellard chuckled, waving his hand in the dismissive way he oft did. “Boys will be boys. And it’s not as if they aren’t both squires.”

“Aye, my lord,” Maryk sighed. “But it won’t happen again.” Bellard nodded, biting into his fourth turkey leg of the evening.

“It will teach young Raoul a lesson,” Bellard said. “And now his face may match Ser Gaspar.” Bellard bellowed loud, uproarious laughter, as did the other men. Gaspar didn’t join in, and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to challenge Maryk to a duel on the spot. “Relax, Gaspar,” Bellard said when he saw the look on his knight’s face. “We are feasting our guests. Have a drink. You two will be riding out to fight despots on the morrow, you oughtn’t be at each other’s throats when you do.”

“My apologies to you as well, Ser Gaspar,” Maryk said, trying to smooth things over. Bellard made a good point. They would be riding into battle together, and it would be best not to make an enemy of the man. It would be best not to make any enemies at all. Maryk knew it was foolish to stay here and help Bellard with his poacher problem. But he couldn’t see a way to refuse, not without bringing forth far too much suspicion.

What Maryk had said before was true. Eventually the king’s men would come riding through. Lord Bellard could tell them where they were going, and how many they were, and even that they had Peter. Or he could help them hide. It wasn’t the way Maryk wanted to play it, but he didn’t see much choice.

When the supper was over, Bellard thanked Maryk again, and then slowly lumbered out of his hall. Maryk took Peter by the hand, and walked him over to Sasha. Henrick and Gilbert had already left.

“What was that with Will?” Sasha asked quietly as she took Peter’s hand from Maryk.

“I have no idea,” Maryk said. “But he was a fool to do it. Luckily Bellard made no fuss about it.”

“We’re staying here longer,” Peter said happily, smiling up at his sister. Sasha looked up at Maryk in surprise, and the knight nodded with a frown.

“Aye, two days, like as not,” Maryk said. “Lord Bellard has asked us to rid his woods of poachers.”

“And you agreed?” Sasha said. She wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea. She had seen how happy Peter had been during the feast, and she was in no great rush to get back to sleeping in the dirt. But she was surprised that Maryk had agreed. He had been so adamant before.

“I had no choice,” Maryk frowned. “We’ll help him get rid of the bandits, and then be on our way. And in the meantime, Will must keep out of trouble.” Sasha nodded, wondering what had happened with Will and the boy he had punched. Her brother had never been one to fight, and it looked like he had broken the boy’s nose.

Maryk led Sasha from the great hall, to the room Bellard had given over for Peter. Sasha would sleep in the room as well. She was supposed to sleep on the floor, like the serving girl she was playing, but Maryk knew she would share the bed with Peter.

Once they were settled, Maryk left the room, and stormed off to find Will, and find out what had happened.