Almost directly in the middle of the northern half of Terra was a mountain range of somewhat stubby proportions known as the ‘Hump’. It lacked the dramatic and ominous flare of the southern mountain range which formed part of the wall that kept the monsters out of Terra. Its highest peaks were almost never dusted with snow as Terra enjoyed far more clement weather than Maul. Even the mountains that fell off the northern most tip of Terra and continued to peek out of the ocean were more impressive, defying the deep salty waters with their jagged slopes and moss covered surfaces.
But the stumpy mountain range with the unfortunate name did offer several advantages to the inhabitants of Terra. The slopes on the southwestern side were mined, quarries dug out of them, providing much of the slate and marble that was used in Astaril’s construction. And rather than be coated with snow, large blankets of forest were draped over the more northerly portions of the mountains and hills, broken only by rivers that were fed from deep underground lakes. Orchards were plentiful and the land was almost always in a state of harvest of some kind. Food was never hard to come by and because of its central, northerly position, it rarely suffered monsters.
Fort Faine was built on the lowest slopes of the range and a stone wall reached out from it to encompass the township it was responsible for. Not that the wall could have protected the people from anything more than the most paltry attack. It was low and in some places, overgrown with climbing shrubbery. The lack of upkeep spoke of the safety the people of Fort Faine felt. Had they suffered consistent monster attacks, the wall would have been built high with parapets and guards and a moat might have been dug around its exterior.
But there was no moat, the entrance was wide open and the only guards Judd and Caste could see were stationed at the armoured gate that led into the keep where Sir Jesa resided. They were more impressed with Caste’s clerical status than Judd’s knighthood quest and were ushered into the upper bailey where they were bade to wait.
Judd looked around at the guards lounging about on heaps of straw, the piles of horse manure that were being shovelled into a cart and the chickens that ran without restraint, chasing the lead chicken that had snared a rather large piece of bread.
“You know…when I thought of a knight’s abode,” Judd mused, “this is not what I had in mind. What is that smell?” He saw a servant trudging towards him with a bucket clutched in both of her hands. A cloud of flies buzzed around her as she grasped the bottom and rim and heaved the disgusting contents into a drain that led outside the wall.
Judd swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and glanced at Caste who had his handkerchief clapped over his mouth.
“For once, you and I are in agreement.”
“Cleric Caste of the Order of the Grail?” A middle aged man with a gait that immediately brought a duck’s waddle to mind, caught their attention. He wore the same robes as Caste but where Caste’s hem scraped constantly on the ground, the cleric of Fort Faine’s hem showed off his shoes and half of his stockinged calves. This was a result of the robes draping over a rather large girth. “I am Cleric O’Dear.”
“O’Dear?” Judd asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Greetings to you, O’Dear, from Bishop Peele and the officers of the Order of the Grail,” Caste interjected, “may the light of Astaril shine forever.”
O’Dear smiled and bowed, gesturing towards the keep and leading them on. Caste fell into step with him, leaving Judd to follow.
“It has been some months since I last had word from Bishop Peele,” O’Dear expounded, “I was growing concerned that he had not received my last three missives containing my doctrinal thesis in which I question the origins of the sorceress Grail, given that there are distinct inconsistencies with her conduct as opposed to her low born birth and lack of education…”
“Ah,” Caste paused, “O’Dear, I am afraid there has been a slight miscommunication. I am not here as a messenger from the bishop.”
O’Dear looked at him. “You are not? Then why would a cleric, such a young one at that, be travelling the land of Terra? True there are few monsters this far north but it is still not safe.”
“That I know,” Caste murmured, “have you heard of Sir Rylan’s initiative?”
“The knighting of eldest sons of middle class families?” O’Dear snorted which was an unfortunate sound for him to make as it could have easily be mistaken as flatulence. “When I heard the missive I was joined with Sir Jesa in questioning Sir Rylan’s generosity of spirit…and lamenting the poor clerics assigned to such poorly trained and badly equipped knights to be. Tis a death sentence, I lamented to him, of some of our finest up and coming clerics who are scant months away from being promoted as deacons…”
Caste’s face was flushed red and his jaw was tight. Judd cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should introduce myself,” he leaned forward, getting O’Dear’s attention, “Judd LaMogre, poorly trained and badly equipped knight to be.”
O’Dear looked at Judd’s outstretched hand then at Caste, raising his eyebrows.
“Well then…I suppose you’ll be wanting to speak with Sir Jesa.” He turned on his corpulent heel and waddled through the doors of the keep, waving the guards aside.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” Caste insisted.
“A cleric of the Order of the Grail is always to be admitted…and whatever company he keeps.” O’Dear said pointedly then gestured to a stone pew which sat outside a pair of double doors which let into the knight’s equivalent of a throne room. And Judd supposed it to be rather appropriate. After all, King Rocheveron could not be expected to govern the entirety of Terra without his knights who were representatives of the might of Astaril. Knights were to outwork King Rocheveron’s laws and protect the people within their purview. As such forts had to have a knight appointed as their ultimate authority, bar the throne. It was up to the knight to maintain military standards of soldiers, kill any monsters that entered their territory and ensure the upkeep of all defences of their fort.
The knights of Astaril were imbued with the authority and power of the throne and even the lowliest, poorest knight, was to be treated with respect.
However, knights to be didn’t seem to engender such treatment.
O’Dear opened one door with a huff and squeezed himself through. Judd sat on the pew and looked at Caste who stood with his arms folded, his gaze grim.
“Do you know anything about Sir Jesa?”
“Nothing specific.”
“Anything in general?”
“Not particularly although it ought to be noted that the orchards and farmlands we passed through in the last day probably fell within his authority.”
Judd nodded. “So I should probably offer to pay for the apple I plucked from the tree this morning?” Caste’s expression was not amused. Judd tapped his teeth together. “I’m guessing Sir Jesa must be a pretty well to do knight if he has a cleric by his side.”
“Don’t you know anything?” Caste glared at Judd. “When a knight is given land, a fort and boundaries to maintain and protect, he is designated a cleric of the Order of the Grail. All knights with forts have a cleric to ensure that the doctrine of the order is adhered to and that King Rocheveron’s authority is not being abused.”
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Judd mused on this. “What about roaming knights? Those too poor or uninterested in being allocated a fort and land?”
“A cleric would not be expected to traipse around the countryside, exposed to every monstrous danger, with a knight too poor or unworthy to be given a fort.”
Judd blinked. “And yet knights to be, such as myself, have been allocated a cleric.” The corners of Caste’s mouth were turned down. “I can see how your assignment to my quest would be…inconvenient.”
“You have no idea…”
“But look at it this way,” Judd stood up, “when I receive my knighthood, you could be the cleric assigned to me!”
Caste’s gaze was deathless and grim. “If,” he said pointedly, “you complete the requirements of knighthood, Sir Rylan will knight you and I will return to the hallowed halls of the Order of the Grail and regain the ground I have lost in becoming a deacon.”
Judd was hardly surprised by the comment. Caste was not his greatest supporter.
O’Dear heaved the door open and waved them in.
“Sir Jesa has deigned to grant you an audience.”
“Thanks.” Judd slapped him on the shoulder and missed Caste’s apologetic glance at O’Dear as they entered the throne room.
Sir Jesa was reclined on a large, high backed chair with a long table in front of him, probably for hosting feasts and entertaining other knights. He had curly hair in a nondescript ash blond hue on the top of his head and hugging his chin and ruddy cheeks and he looked up from his map and goblet of wine as Judd and Caste approached him.
“Sir Jesa,” Judd bowed, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Judd LaMogre…”
“One of Rylan’s pups!” Sir Jesa chortled, standing to his feet, exposing his generous girth. “I heard his incentive to the middle class first borns. An endeavour of excessive generosity, giving out knighthoods to the lower classes,” he strode towards them and Judd was relieved to see him extend his hand, “but there is no finer knight than Garo Rylan. The citizens of Terra owe him beyond measure for maintaining the security and strength of the wall.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Judd gushed and Sir Jesa put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“I was there, you know, when he dragged three minotaur heads before King Rocheveron, as proof of his love for the Princess Genovieve.”
“I heard he killed them with a unicorn’s horn and nothing else!”
Sir Jesa laughed, his deep voice reverberating off the walls that weren’t covered in tapestries in an attempt to keep any chill out of the hall.
“I’d like to think my own knightly accomplishments are worthy of note in the historical records…but even mine are lacking compared to Sir Rylan.” Sir Jesa propelled Judd to a seat at the table and returned to his own, Caste standing a small way back from Judd. “And now his own great deeds are inspiring a new generation of knights…”
“If I can do my part to rid Terra of monsters, then I am happy.”
Sir Jesa chortled. “Are you sure you’re a knight to be and not a cleric in training?”
Judd’s reply was delayed by Caste’s snort behind him. “Certainly not.”
“Clerics have their uses, to be sure…but there’s nothing like the prestige, the fame and the honour of being a knight.” Sir Jesa waved to the wine bearer who poured Judd a cup full. Judd saw his status displayed in the two cups. His was plain, made of wood and a little rough around the edges while Sir Jesa’s was a metal goblet, decorated with gemstones. “Drink, knight to be, Judd LaMogre.”
Judd swigged at the wine, noting the pleasant flavours. He’d drunk wine before but only in the house of his parents and it always left an aftertaste of fish in his mouth. He couldn’t understand why. The wine Sir Jesa served was decidedly delicious.
“Now,” Sir Jesa wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Judd LaMogre, you’ve done me a politeness by visiting me before monster hunting upon my land and for that, I thank you, however, I am afraid there are no monsters to be killed. My land is far too far north for any large monsters to reach without being sighted and as for littler ones, we’ve had no word.”
“I’m glad you don’t suffer monster attacks,” Judd insisted, “but the reason I am here is because I heard you have a weaponsmith?”
“I do indeed, Paxt, a finer melder of metal you’ll never find, even the ones boasted of in Fort Omra.”
Judd sighed and brought the two broken pieces of his sword into view, laying them on the table. “I don’t suppose he’d be able to fix this?”
Sir Jesa peered at the snapped blade and tutted. “That’s one broken sword…has this even been sharpened?” Judd shook his head, unsure. “I’ll have a servant show you to Paxt,” Sir Jesa stood up and Judd followed suit as he began to lead him out of the hall, “and for a lightweight piece of silver it’ll be good as new.”
Judd froze, Sir Jesa’s hand sliding from his shoulder.
“Ah…”
“This should be good.” Caste muttered.
“The thing is,” Judd cringed, “I have no money with which to pay the weaponsmith…”
Sir Jesa stopped and turned to him. “Tell me this isn’t so?”
“I am afraid it is.” Sir Jesa tutted and shook his head. “Is there any way to get a line of credit?”
“And when you die in the wilds, who will settle your debt?” Sir Jesa eyed him and Judd recoiled in shame. “You have to pay your way in this world. No one gives anything to you.”
“Then is there any way I could earn the repair? Something I could do for you?”
Sir Jesa opened his mouth, his head already shaking, when Cleric O’Dear cleared his throat and they all turned to him.
“Sir Jesa, without meaning to be presumptuous…but perhaps…the forest bandits?”
Sir Jesa paused, stroking his beard. “Perhaps…although…”
“I could do it!” Judd exclaimed, eager beyond all measure to pay for his sword repair. “Please, Sir Jesa, I cannot resume my quest to become a knight with a broken sword. I’ll look for your forest bandits in exchange for my sword’s repair.”
Sir Jesa sighed then nodded. “Very well…O’Dear can direct you to their last known location…and if you return, Paxt will repair your sword.”
Judd’s thank you was little more than a squeak. He felt Caste grab his arm and propel him back to the table where O’Dear was waiting.
“The bandits you seek are former tenants of this,” he jabbed the map with his chubby index finger, “orchard. They leased it from Sir Jesa several years ago and after paying their taxes dutifully every year, last year they began to claim they could no longer meet the payments. Sir Jesa generously extended credit to them but this year, when the harvest should have been picked and packed, they were nowhere to be found, absconding with the fruit and all of the profits.”
Judd studied the vague lines on the parchment. The orchard looked to be pressed against the forest.
“And they are attacking people who travelling through the forest?” Judd asked.
“So far, no.” O’Dear admitted.
Caste looked up. “Then why label them bandits?”
O’Dear shrugged. “Bandits are thieves…and these people have stolen fruit and money and broken Sir Jesa’s trust.”
Judd looked at Caste who nodded. “In that way, I suppose it is true…but why do you believe these tenants are the bandits? Would it not have been safer to leave the area entirely?”
“Not long after they abandoned their lease, a spat of crimes began to occur anywhere farmland butted up against the forest. Pigs, sheep and chickens have been stolen, crops have been raided or trampled and in one instance, a storehouse was set on fire.”
“And you believe these tenants, turned bandits, are doing this?”
O’Dear gave Judd a condescending look. “We had no trouble until they abandoned their lease.”
Judd sighed and nodded. “Very well, I’ll go to the orchard and start from there.”
“May the holy light of the star of Astaril guide your way.”
“Oh that’s very kind of…” Judd realised that O’Dear was speaking to Caste, rolled his eyes and left the hall. Caste hastened to join him as they left the keep, entering the public space of the fort. There were markets and shops, leatherworks, a baker, a butcher and even a public bathhouse.
“Are you really going to track down a bunch of bandits just to get your sword fixed?” Caste demanded.
“Unless you’re willing to sell one of your precious books to pay for the repair…” Judd glanced at Caste whose face went white. “No, no…I was joking.”
Caste shook off the horror. “So let me get this straight…you’ve accepted a quest, a subpar quest, in an endeavour to fulfill an aspect of your ultimate quest?”
Judd thought about this. “That sounds right, yes.”
“What happens when this sub-quest ends in another minor quest or, heaven forbid, multiple minor quests?”
“Caste,” Judd stopped him outside the bathhouse where a man sat in a tub of water and a woman scrubbed his pot marked back, “I want to be a knight and as such, I need a sword. Not want, need. I’d complete a dozen sub-quests in order to make it happen. And I am sorry I have to drag you along for it all…but that decision was out of my control.”
Caste sighed and nodded. “Fine…”
“So let’s pick up Aalis and head to the orchard.” Judd turned around. “Where is she?”
“Probably setting up a fortune telling booth…”
Judd chose to ignore Caste’s remark. A brief search of the markets found Aalis just beyond its border, applying some salve to a little girl’s arm.
“Now, try to keep it dry for two days, alright?” Aalis warned her. “If your mum can spare the salt, a little in boiled water can be used to clean it.”
The girl nodded her head eagerly and darted away as Caste and Judd approached. Aalis wiped her hands and stood up, her rather distinctive dreadlocks covered with her hood.
“Making friends?” Judd asked.
“A little healing help goes a long way.” She remarked. “Was your sword able to be repaired?”
Judd pulled a face. “I lack the funds to do so…but Sir Jesa gave me a task to complete and if I do so, the weaponsmith will mend my sword.”
“What is the task?”
Judd explained it to her as she closed the pockets of her pack and swung it onto her back.
“Chasing down tax evaders…”
“I know, not the most knightly endeavour,” Judd sighed, “but I need a sword.”
Aalis nodded. “You do. Well, shall we go?”