It was night, two days later, that Alphonse next acknowledged the boy.

He heard him behind at times, and had even slowed his pace twice when he felt it was likely the boy was losing his track. The captain’s former horse was a large black stallion, which would likely have outpaced his mare in a dead sprint, but through this forest Alphonse’s greater mobility had kept him ahead.

By the time the lad arrived at the clearing where Alphonse had made camp, a fire was already burning. Alphonse sat casually with his back against a tree, examining the jeweled box. The designs on the box were floral, and a rainbow of precious gems served as petals. The underside of it looked plain, but the other five side all appeared very grand.

It was kept closed by a small lock. There were designs on it, but it wasn’t any kind of ward which Alphonse recognized. Not that he was schooled in magic, but recognizing wards was a skill most mercenaries picked up if they lived long enough.

He had laid out his tools on the grass beside him, and gone to work on the lock with a set of picks.

The boy brought his horse to a trot before sliding down and tying the reigns to a nearby tree. “I had a devil’s time keeping up with you, Ser. You could have slowed.”

“I couldn’t risk it until we reached the lands of Simon Half-man. Besides it seems you’ve managed to keep up.”

“At least you made us a fire.”

“I made me a fire.” Alphonse corrected.

“I’ve been thinking about that, Ser.” The boy sat down next to the fire without permission. Alphonse raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “I don’t know how to survive alone, out here in the wild. But I could still help you, do things for you.”

“I have no need of a body servant, lad. I prefer women, grown ones with some meat on their bones at that.” Alphonse had to dodge a thrown pinecone after that jest, but he just chuckled and kept his attention on the box.

“It was not a position as a body servant I was suggesting. I squired for the man you killed; I could squire for you now.”

“And serve me just as well as your last master, who you robbed while you watched me slit his throat?”

The boy waved his hand as though that was sufficient to dissipate any concerns like smoke. “As long as you’re the one slitting throats, we’ll have no problems.”

“I’m also not a knight.”

“You have a sword and a horse; you wear armor and you kill people. I believe you’ve grasped all the fundamentals.”

The boy leapt into the air when Alphonse suddenly threw the box the ground.

The image provided nearly enough mirth that he forgot his frustrations, nearly. “Gods be damned! Well, what’s in the sodding thing anyway.”

The squire coughed and looked into the fire, avoiding his gaze, which was all the answer Alphonse needed. A man sees a box with jewels and assumes it must hold something of value; it seemed a boy does the same.

“Well, it’s of no importance.” So saying, Alphonse took a chisel and began to pry the jewels free, starting with a particularly fine looking garnet.

The boy turned to glance backwards then leapt to his feet. “What are you doing?”

“I’m seeing to it that we are not targeted by every man stupid enough to assume that a box covered in jewels contains something of value, and not just some sentimental keepsake, religious trash, or perhaps nothing at all. The jewels will be worth the same pried free, and I’m no appraiser, but that will be more than enough to be worth my time from the looks of them.”

The boy turned his attention back to the fire, and Alphonse continued his work.

He had just finished with the last, a large but clouded ruby, when he heard the hoof-falls of approaching riders. He had been prepared to greet men sworn to Baron Simon ahead of him, but these came from behind them.

He slid the jewels into his coin purse then grabbed for his sword and shield. “Damnit! We crossed the creek, we’re on another man’s land now. Boy! Put out the fire, for all the good it will do.”

The boy did as commanded, and Alphonse quickly stowed the box away in the hollow of the tree he had been leaning against. Once that was done, he placed the tree between himself and the coming riders, motioning for the boy to follow him once the fire was out.

The riders came crashing into the clearing only a moment later. Alphonse counted eight of them, all bearing the sigil of the Baroness Stirba.

Too many.

Perhaps with only two or three he could have come at them from out of the shadows. He could have killed one before they knew he was there, and maybe dragged down a second in the confusion afterwards.

There was no way he could kill eight men in chainmail on horses.

He watched their movement from his hiding place. The soldiers were disciplined; they stayed close and never let one man stray too far or go out of sight. They watched the trees wearily.

The one who seemed to be their leader dismounted. He checked Honey Bee and the dead captain’s own horse, then the remains of the fire. Seemingly finding everything to his satisfaction, the knight moved over to the pack of provisions Alphonse had laid out by the fire. He produced a strip of beef from within.

Then he tore into the tough meat, and addressed himself to the surrounding trees, watching carefully for any sign of movement. “Come out deserter. I would speak with you.”

Perhaps Alphonse could have brought down one man through stealth before being cut to pieces, but however slim his chances, they seemed best through diplomacy.

He sheathed his sword and stepped out into the open. “You come into my camp in the night and eat my food without even asking. I was taught that knights were meant to be chivalrous.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

One of the men still on horseback spoke up. “Strange times when we are chastised by a man who flees from battle.”

“You would prefer that I had killed you? I could do so now if you wish.” Alphonse quipped back at once.

“Mongrel dog.” The man on the horse came forward grasping his hilt of his sword, but the knight stepped between the combatants, still chewing.

Alphonse wasn’t surprised; shoe leather would be more supple than the meat in his pack. It seemed that the knight did want him alive, however, that was surprising. “This mongrel dog can still bite, but it seems your master would rather us talk then scrap, and I’m inclined to agree.”

“I would.” The knight spit out the beef. “My saddle is softer than this, tastier too, I’ll warrant.”

“Perhaps if they’d fed us better, I wouldn’t have left.”

“Now that I’ve tasted this, I can’t say I blame you.” The knight’s face broke into a wide smile. “Come have your companion still hiding in the trees come out and restart the fire. We’ll sit down and all talk together.”

The knight took a seat by the red embers, and Alphonse sat next to him. “Boy! Come out and build us a fire.”

After a few moments of hesitation, the boy stepped out from his hiding spot and falteringly made his way over towards fire, where he began feeding twigs into the remaining embers.

The knight chuckled when he saw the young man. “I had expected another sellsword like you, not a serving boy.”

“He’s my squire.”

“You’re a knight?” The true knight opposite Alphonse studied him as he spoke.

“I had sword, a horse, and I wear armor. I also kill people; I believe that’s all the fundamentals.”

Upon hearing this, the knight let out a great bellow of a laugh. “True enough, Ser Craven.”

Alphonse laughed along with him. He didn’t feel particularly mirthful, but winning this man over was his only path to saving his own life. “So, tell me friend. Why have you pursued me these past two days? I’m sorry to inform you that I can buy you no ransom.”

“I am to bring you to my mistress, the Baroness Stirba.”

“And what would the mighty baroness want with a lowly mercenary like myself.”

“You went into battle against her men, is that not enough?”

“The only man I went into battle with was one of her enemies. If she means to pay me for my services, you may return and tell her that I rendered them gratis, and she owes me nothing.”

The knight kept the broad grin on his face, but it now seemed to pain him. “I’m sorry, Ser Craven, I’m afraid she’ll insist on you receiving your due. I’m not to return without you.”

“I see.” Alphonse realized he had one card left to play, and it was a poor one. “Of course, we are on the lands of Baron Simon Half-man, and you have no rights to detain anyone here.”

Now the smile disappeared entirely, as did Alphonse hopes. “I’m not detaining anyone. I’m simply escorting a friendly mercenary back to his employer, to receive his just rewards.”

Alphonse remained silent for a time, before determining that he could at least try and save the lad. “Of course, the baroness has no need to see my boy.”

The knight shook his head. “A squire always travels with his knight; you should know that.”

“I see.”

Well, it seemed whatever happened next, they would be in it together.

The trip back was easier than the way they came, and it was several days before they began to approach Shadowtree Keep, seat of the Baroness Stirba the She-Wolf. At first the other knights had watched the duo carefully. But when their leader – whom they learned was named Ser Birch, and was the master of arms at Shadowtree – consistently showed no concern, the two were left largely alone. Repeatedly, Ser Birch told the men that their prisoners would have nowhere to go even if they ran.

Ser Birch was right of course. As deserters they couldn’t very well go back to Claudius now, and they would be run down before they could escape anywhere else.

Twig quickly learned that the man was quite perceptive for one named after a tree, he knew something about that. Alphonse had even begun to grow rather fond of him as well, they were both veteran soldiers too old to care what anyone else thought of them.

Twig was restless the whole trip. He had a real name, and had even tried to tell it to Alphonse twice, but the mercenary had clipped him on the ear and told him to be quiet both times.

The She-Wolf had a fearsome reputation, and it was no good getting attached to someone who might not be long for the world.

When they were only a day or two away from their destination, Alphonse he stole a moment alone with his squire, and pressed the jewels he’d pried off the box into his hand as they rode.

“What am I to do with this, Ser?” He asked, but Alphonse simply nodded forward indicating that they should not be seen conversing.

Twig quickly made certain they were not being observed.

Alphonse mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. “I fear I may be searched when we arrive. Hide those and tell no one of them.”

He looked about conspiratorially, and Alphonse could have cuffed him again for how blatant he was. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.

Twig whispered back. “But what if they search me as well?”

“Then, when you go off alone to make water, hide them some place they won’t look. It’ll work, as long as none of the other fellows here at the keep find you too comely.”

“If that was your plan, why don’t you hide them?”

“I’m the knight and you’re the squire, this seems like squire’s work.” With that Alphonse rode off ahead, partially to avoid being noticed, and partially to end further argument.

Shadowtree Keep was significantly more impressive than any other castle Twig had ever seen. That list included only Deepmotte, of course, but he was awed by the sight none the less. The fortress was located deep within the Whitewood, and here the sequoias grew up tall around it. The walls were made of stone and a couple dozen feet high, but still the trees dwarfed them, going up so high that Twig couldn’t even see the tops of them.

He knew that it wasn’t wise to have trees next to a castle’s walls, since a man could climb them and jump over. But there were no branches on these trees, only the massive solitary trunk until well above even the castle wall. Twig had always loved to climb trees, in fact that was where his nickname had come from, but even he doubted he could make his way up one of those.

The party approached the gate, and Twig reflected that the keep was aptly named. The sun barely penetrated through the branches of the towering trees overhead. The ground looked like a mess of spots where gaps in the tree cover allowed the dappled light to shine through.

Twig didn’t mind one bit. Now that the summer was here, the whole area around Whitegate was unbearably hot. The shade this kept this place far more comfortable. He even liked the sounds of the pine nettles as they broke under his horse’s hooves. The whole forest floor was covered in them, from the massive conifers which rose up all around.

Ahead or him, he could hear the clang of metal as men sparred and a smith practiced his trade. He could also see the curl of smoke, and briefly imagined some freshly baked bread or suckling pig with crackling fat awaited him inside. If he weren’t going towards his probable execution, then he would consider this whole thing a grand adventure.

It wasn’t a grand adventure Twig realized, as he looked up at the men on the wall.

He had assumed the human like figures he saw above the gate to be sentries, though he couldn’t imagine why they held their bodies so rigidly like a T.

Now he saw that they were bodies, lashed with ropes to wooden beams with their arms outstretched, then left there to hang. Twig redirected his gaze down towards his shoes, and pretended he had not seen the worst part.

The portcullis which guarded the main gate slowly raised up, and the massive wooden doors beyond creaked as they were unbolted. Bowmen patrolled all along the wall, but those by the gate watched them wearily. Twig noticed that they kept an arrow notched, even if they weren’t taking aim or drawing back the string. Though they turn their heads to breathe past their shoulders as they passed the hanging men.

Once the creaking of the bar and the clanking of the portcullis were finished, the doors slid apart and the party marched forward.

As they passed through, Twig stopped to take a closer look at the engravings etched wood of the castle gate. On either door there was a relief of a tree just like the massive pines outside, and then up near the top was the image of a bird, but it was so far above him that Twig could only guess at what kind it was meant to be.

“Come along boy. Don’t make me cuff you again. Hurry up.” It was the bastard who’d stolen his box, that broke him out of his reverie.

Silently, he turned his horse and did as he was bid. As he did so, he heard the portcullis rattling down behind him, and realized that he had nowhere left to go. He tried not to think of the dead men crucified over the gate, or the pleading look one had given him when Twig saw that some were still breathing.