Castle Thorn, 1406

Castle Thorn was not what one pictured when they imagined the fortress of a powerful Nobleman. It was four squat walls of grey stone, each rising thirty feet into the air with crenelated protection for the ramparts that encircled the top. Each corner rose higher with a tower that housed a ballista and a pair of Men-at-Arms. Encircled within these walls was a large, square central keep, it flew the flag of its Lord; Sir Edward de Marche, Baron of Rowan’s Bridge. The castle grounds were lush with a fine green carpet of lawn that the lord had cultivated for his prized steeds, whose stable was within the walls. A tiltyard and a small barracks rounded out the rest of the buildings within.

Sir Edward sat in his office, his once powerful frame looked shrunken as he hunched over in his carved, oak chair. Liver spotted hands worked his quill across the parchment before him. The old man rubbed swollen knuckles, a scar over his index finger bringing a smile to his face as he remembered days when he was young and adventure awaited him at every turn. He cast an eye out his window, a simple affair with four small panes of glass each a slightly different shade of green, imported from the Merchant’s League of Vallar to the south east. The youngest of his Squires was practicing with a sword and buckler in the tiltyard. He watched as the young man cut at his opponent’s buckler while covering his own.

Sir Edward allowed another smile to grace his features as he watched the familiar game, a game he’d played many times when he was a boy. It was the best of games as it combined play with skill and was of not inconsiderable benefit to a burgeoning swordsman. The old man rose on aching knees as he pulled his warm gown about him, a plain brown garment lined in thick sable fur that his eldest son had sent him last winter,a precious gift. With a firm grip on the gnarled cane he had fashioned for himself Edward limped out of his door and down towards the yard, accompanied as always by his man servant.

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The yard rang with the sound of steel on steel as the two duelists slashed at each other’s buckler. It was a simple game, strike your opponent’s buckler and strike well. It combined footwork as well as the basics of sword skill, with the two players increasing speed as they moved. The first to fail to strike the buckler lost. There was a danger involved that failing to strike would result in hitting your opponent which was considered a serious foul. As such Sir Edward had made it law within the tiltyard that helms and gauntlets were to be worn when a student participated.

The old man came alongside the tiltyard, his arms resting gently along the top railing of the fence, a sigh of relief escaped him as he was able to remove some of the weight from his feet. His man servant rushed forward with a camp chair, Edward had no idea where he’d managed to make it appear from, but he nodded his gratitude and sank onto the comfortable seat. The two warriors halted their game and turned to bow. The youngest performed a full reverentia on one knee before he hurried to the side of the yard.

“Grandfather, should you be out in the cold?” The young man asked. Edward bit back his retort, in his sixty five years he had learned to control his temper but it still chafed to be so weak, more so to be seen as such.

“I’m not an invalid Geoffrey, I am warm enough, don’t stop on my account, continue your game with Sir Ector.” The Knight nodded his gratitude to his lord, turning his attention back to the boy. Geoffrey’s cheeks had flushed a rosey red, being reprimanded by his Grandfather was not how he enjoyed to spend his days. He quickly returned to his favoured garde, lowering the blade across his shoulder turned out slightly to allow for a powerful side cut. Edward smiled at the stance, it had been the favoured garde of the knight who had trained him many years ago, ah my Geoffrey, how alike you are to Sir Clement, I wish you’d have been able to meet him, the old warrior thought within the solitude of his own mind.

The two men slashed at bucklers for several more hours before they finally had to disarm, their silent audience had stayed throughout. Edward rose as the two removed their helms, and limped to the fence once more. “Ector, you need to be more careful at the crossing, you’re rushing the motion still. I’ve been telling you since you were a boy, trust in your technique and allow the movement to flow.” The old man gave his advice good naturedly, an almost paternal smile gracing his features. Sir Ector bowed to his master.

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“Of course my lord, I’ll continue working on it.” The knight answered graciously, though his words sounded as sincere and reverential as any spoken in a church. Edward turned to his grandson.

“Coming along nicely Geoffrey, you’re moving your shoulder before your body though, the two should move as one, not separate entities, you’re robbing your strikes of power by trying to speed them up, let your body flow and you will strike down mountains.” Once more the tone was good natured, the boy stiffened but bowed at the waist. Edward knew that as well intentioned as his advice was, it had perhaps not been so well received. The Lord of Castle Thorn left the yard at a sedate walk, trailing his servant as ever. Geoffrey turned to his training partner once he was sure the old man was out of ear shot.

“How do you handle advice from an old paper pusher like that?” The boy exploded heatedly, “The old fart has likely never lifted a sword in his life.” Sir Ector looked as though he’d been slapped, his expression horrified, though it slowly changed to one of dark and brooding anger. His fist lashed out before the thought had even fully formed in his own mind, connecting on the boy’s jaw and driving him to the frozen ground.

“Don’t you ever speak of Sir Edward like that again, do you not know anything?” The Knight was furious, he advanced on the fallen squire, his hands making involuntary grasping motions as he bent to lift Geoffrey once more by his tunic. “He’s your Grandfather, how do you not know who he is?” The squire rubbed his jaw, still in shock at being hit. “He was knighted on the fields before Siegesstand before I was born, he’s seen more war in his life than every knight in this castle combined, he won the Tournament of Seageld before he was twenty five years old. Your Grandfather is perhaps the most respected Knight in the Kingdom and you would do well to listen to all he has to teach, it might keep you alive one day.” Sir Ector stalked off without another word, his hunched shoulders spoke volumes of his anger. Geoffrey stared in bewildered silence as his mentor left.

“Shit.”

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That night Edward took his meal in his private apartments, inviting Sir Ector and Geoffrey to eat with him before the fire. As they ate, they drank a fine red wine from Lucca. It was a simple meal of local mutton with seasonal greens, Sir Edward prided himself on using local produce at his own tables, disdaining the common practice of importing foods as a show of wealth and status.

As they reclined in companionable silence, Geoffrey worked up the courage to finally speak, clearing his throat to gain his Grandfather’s attention, “Grandfather, thank you for your advice today, I hope you can observe my training more often as the weather improves.” It was perhaps as close to an apology as a well born boy was ever likely to get, Sir Edward nodded in understanding, he’d noticed the blossoming bruise on his Grandson’s jaw and said nothing, punishments were between a knight and his squire, and not generally up for public debate.

“Of course Geoffrey, it does me good to get down to the training yard every now and then.” The old man spoke, his voice warm with the love that only a grandparent can give. The boy wasn’t done however, as he mustered what was left of his courage.

“I was hoping you might tell me the story of your Knighting, and the Battle of Siegesstand I mean.” The last was blurted with such force that Edward was sure Geoffrey had been chewing on the words since before dinner had begun. The old man chuckled as he stroked his forked beard, the silver hair like silk between his fingers.

“Ah Sieggestand, we haven’t seen a war like it since, and thank the Young Ones for that, it was a dark time in our history young Geoffrey. Arturia was wracked by civil war and my father had sent me off to squire for my Uncle; Sir Clement d’Arlay, but Sir Clement didn’t wish to stay in Arturia. Everyone was at war but there was no real fighting to be had, so we joined the Company of Sir Felix von Rabsburg, he was heading south.” Edward rolled his glass in his hand watching the red liquid swirl, his eyes looking at some long lost battlefield that only he could see, “The Emperor had broken the peace and rushed an army through the Pass in the middle of winter, a nearly unheard of thing, he must have lost half his men to frostbite alone. He took the Pass and established his foothold amongst the Vallarese cities, it’s a long story Geoffrey, are you sure you want to hear it?” He turned to the boy, seeing that his eyes were already wide with wonder.

“Please continue, Grandfather.” The boy answered.

“Very well, grab my book from the shelf, green binding, gold lettering, I’ll try to remember what I can but a journal helps.” Edward said and held out a hand as his Grandson returned with the leatherbound book, labelled with his name and marked with the years 1356 - 1359 in fine gold leaf. “Alright, well if I’m going to tell it right, I have to start with the Company. We were travelling South on the Imperial side of the Mountains, heading for Siegesstand, winter was getting close and we had to make the fortress city before the Pass closed. Of course we were riding through a desert so we were baking alive in our armour rather than freezing.”