Alric smiled and threw his arms around him. “You’re a good friend. I’m sorry we’ll never get to Percepliquis now.”
“It’s all right; besides, you never know. We might get there someday.”
As they left the storeroom, Alric dusted dirt off his hands that he picked up from Mauvin’s back during their embrace. “Is Fanen getting so good now that he was able to put you in the dirt?”
“No, it was the thief you brought with you, the big one. Where did you find him? His skill at sword fighting is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s actually rather remarkable.”
“Really? Coming from a Pickering, that is high praise indeed.”
“I’m afraid the Pickering legend won’t last long at this rate: father loses to Percy Braga, and now I get thrown in the dirt by a common ruffian. How long will it be before we are being challenged for our land and title by the other nobles without fear?”
“If your father had his sword that day…” Alric paused. “Why didn’t your father have his sword?”
“Misplaced it,” Mauvin said. “He was certain it was in his room, but the next morning, it was gone. A steward found it later the same day laying somewhere strange.”
“Well, sword or no, I can tell you, Mauvin, I think your father is still the best swordsman in the kingdom.”
Royce, Hadrian, and Myron continued to enjoy the hospitality of the Pickerings with a hearty lunch as well as supper served to them in the warm comfort of Ella’s kitchen. They spent most of the day napping, recovering lost sleep from the previous days. By nightfall, they were beginning to feel like themselves again.
Hadrian had a newfound shadow as Denek followed him wherever he went. After supper, he asked the three to come watch the marshalling of the troops from one of his favorite spots. The boy led them to the parapet above the main gate. From there, they could see both the grounds outside the castle and inside the courtyard without being underfoot.
Around early evening people began to arrive. Small groups of knights, barons, squires, soldiers, and village officials trickled in and formed camps outside the castle. Tall poles bearing the banners of various noble houses stood in the courtyard, signaling their presence in accordance with their sworn duty. By moonrise, eight standards and about three hundred men gathered in camps around bonfires. Their tents littered the hillside and extended throughout the orchards.
Vern, along with five other blacksmiths from various villages, worked late sharing his forge and anvil. They were hammering out last minute requests. The rest of the courtyard was equally active with every lamp lit, and each shop busy. Leather workers adjusted saddle stirrups and helms. Fletchers fashioned bundles of arrows, which they stacked like cord wood against the stable wall. Wood-cutters created large rectangular archer shields. Even the butchers and bakers worked hard preparing sack meals from smoked meats, breads, onions, and turnips.
“The green one with the hammer on it is Lord Jerl’s banner,” Denek told them. The weather had turned sharply cold again, and his breath created a frosty fog. “I spent a summer at their estate two years ago. It is right on the edge of the Lankster Forest, and they love to hunt. They must have two dozen of the realm’s best hounds. It’s where I learned to shoot a bow. I bet you know how to shoot a bow real well, don’t you, Hadrian?”
“I’ve been known to hit the forest from the field on occasion.”
“I bet you could outshoot any of Jerl’s sons. He’s got six, and they all think they are the best marksmen in the province. My father never taught us archery. He said it didn’t make sense because we would never be fighting in ranks. He taught us to concentrate on the sword. Although I don’t know what good it will do me if I’m sent to a monastery. I’ll be stuck doing nothing but reading all day.”
“Actually there is a great deal more than that to do in an abbey,” Myron explained, pulling the blanket around his shoulders tighter. “In spring, most of your time will be spent gardening, and in autumn, there is the harvest, preserving, and brewing. Even in winter, there is the mending and cleaning. Of course the bulk of your time is spent in prayer, either communal in the chapel or silently in the cloister. Then there is—”
“I think I’d rather be a foot soldier,” Denek sighed with a grimace. “Or maybe I could join you two and become a thief! It must be a wonderfully exciting life running all over the world, accomplishing dangerous missions for king and country.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Hadrian muttered softly.
Below them, a single rider rode up quickly to the front gate.
“Isn’t that the banner of Essendon?” Royce asked, pointing to the falcon flag the rider carried.
“Yeah,” Denek said surprised, “it’s the king’s standard. He’s a messenger from Medford.”
