The Ransom Knight by Jonathan Moeller Page A

requires a light touch…then why the devil are you sending me?”
    Gerald blinked. No one ever spoke that bluntly to Lord Malden Roland. Yet Malden only threw back his head and laughed. 
    “I appreciate your knack for plain speech, Sir Mazael,” said Malden. “So I shall repay you with your own coin. I am sending someone else to handle the ransom. An emissary who has the necessary light touch. Your task is to escort this man and the ransom, and then see him and Sir Edmund back to Knightcastle safely. Should anyone attempt to inflict mayhem, shall we say, upon the emissary, you will answer them in kind.” 
    “I can do that,” said Mazael
    “Additionally,” said Malden, “my son is your squire, and he needs to learn the knightly arts of war and battle. He may have a fief and a manor of his own someday, and he needs to study the lordly arts of ruling and negotiation. This is an excellent opportunity.”
    Gerald bowed. “I will not fail you, Father.” 
    “Who is your emissary?” said Mazael.
    “Brother Trocend,” said Malden.
    Mazael sighed.
    “You disapprove, sir knight?” said Malden.
    “Brother Trocend Castleson,” said Mazael, “is entirely too fond of the sound of his own voice. And of lecturing. And of obscure historical references…”
    “A common failing among scholars,” said Malden. “Yet he is the best man for the task at hand.” Malden gestured at the courtyard far below. “Your horses and Brother Trocend are awaiting you below. I suggest you depart at once.”
    Mazael nodded, bowed, and left the Arcade of Sorrows, Gerald trailing after him. The fingers of his left hand tapped against the steel pommel of his longsword. His mind churned through everything that Lord Malden had told him. 
    It did not add up.
    “You…do not like Brother Trocend, sir?” said Gerald once they were out of earshot.
    “No,” said Mazael.
    Gerald hesitated.
    “Out with it,” said Mazael. “I’m not your father. You don’t have to guard your speech with me.”
    “Is it because he disapproves of your…revels?” said Gerald.
    Mazael barked a laugh. “If he did, it wouldn’t matter. I doubt he cares. That man is no more a monk than I am.”
    “He is a sworn brother of the Amaterian order,” said Gerald. 
    “Perhaps,” said Mazael. “He’s also your father’s master of spies. Did you know that?” Gerald shook his head, frowning. “Like every great lord, your father has informants and whisperers to bring him news. Trocend organizes and oversees them. I suspect he also helps troublesome people to disappear from time to time.”
    “My father is an honorable man,” said Gerald. “He would never order an assassination.”
    “Of course not,” said Mazael. “That’s why he has Trocend to do it for him. But you’re missing the main point.”
    “Which is, sir?” said Gerald. 
    “Think it through,” said Mazael. If he was going to teach the boy to be a knight, he would also have to teach him to navigate the dangerous currents of intrigue that surrounded powerful lords like Malden Roland. 
    “If Brother Trocend is my father’s spymaster,” said Gerald, “then why is he coming along for a simple ransom?”
    “Aye,” said Mazael. “There’s something more afoot here, and I don’t like it. Keep your wits about you. These sort of games can get bloody.” It reminded him of the intrigues his mother Lady Arissa had spun against his father Lord Adalon. Civil war had broken out in the Grim Marches, and it had not ended well for either Arissa or Adalon. Though Mazael found himself looking forward to the fighting. There was something in him that relished the thought of battle, of defeating foes in combat, and he suspected Lord Malden’s latest intrigue would involve bloodshed.
    For that matter, bandits infested the Stormvales. They might have fighting even before reaching the gates of Castle Highstone. 
    Mazael and Gerald gathered their baggage and armor and sent it with the pages, and then