“How did you find your accommodations?” Bede asked Caste as they walked the outer corridors of the keep which looked down into the upper bailey.
“Without fault.” Caste declared then paused. “Well, perhaps one niggling irritation that it faces the bailey and this morning I suffered the abrasive melodies of a factually inaccurate minstrel.”
“Ah yes, I know the one you mean,” Bede snorted, a cleric who was the same weight as Caste yet taller so he seemed to lean no matter what stance he took up, “blond curls, blue eyes…surrounded by a crowd of fawning women.”
“That’s the one.”
“Giordi Gavoli. He travels around Astaril with whatever caravan will take him, singing his songs and enjoying his audience, if you catch my drift.” Bede leaned and winked. “He came up with a group of archers, jousters and swordsmen who attended Fort Bastil’s monthly festival, three months ago now, and we have not managed to get rid of him yet. However, it is only a matter of time.”
“How so?”
“Eventually a father will take umbrage with him and he’ll escape with another travelling band so unfortunate as to acquire him. Men like that are forever moving,” Bede snickered, “for a moving target is far harder to hit.”
Bede was not amusing nor was he particularly witty but he was Caste’s host so he gave him the thrill of a moderate, albeit fake, laugh. Their conversation was interrupted by a shout down below and the both of them went to the arched window closest to where they were, leaning out to see what the fuss was about. Two swordsmen were in the fighting ring, one chasing the other around with frighteningly strong brute strength.
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“Isn’t that your middle class ‘wants to be a knight’ assignment?”
Caste’s green eyes had immediately recognised Judd scampering about on the loose gravel, trying to put distance between himself and Dalain’s lightning fast reflexes.
“Yes, that would be Judd LaMogre.” He sighed, shaking his head. Judd was in over his head in more ways than one. He couldn’t hold his own against sword master Dalain Thiery. He couldn’t even get back on his feet unless Dalain called for another round, giving Judd a moment to pause, breathe and stand up before being knocked back down again, slamming into the ring post, the soldiers and guards of Fort Bastil cheering and laughing.
“Dalain is doing what Dalain does best.” Bede chuckled.
“What does he do best?” Caste asked.
“Puts soldiers in their place.” Bede looked at Caste. “I doubt you’ll have to worry about following a commoner unworthy of the title of knight around Terra for much longer. I’d say he’s about three rounds away from giving up,” there was a loud crash and a series of jeers, “two rounds.”
“Judd LaMogre is as stubborn as an ox.” Caste rolled his eyes.
“And I’ve seen Dalain send more than just soldiers packing. He doesn’t accept second place.” Bede drew back from the window. “You showed an interest in Fort Bastil’s library. Why do we not retire there for the morning?”
Caste nodded and followed with only the smallest back glance to the window. He felt little guilt about the thrashing going on down below. Goodness knows he had warned Judd multiple times about the foolishness of his knighthood dream. Perhaps Dalain Thiery would finally knock some sense into him.