The Ransom Knight by Jonathan Moeller Page B

descended to the outer courtyard. Their horses waited with two of Lord Malden’s armsmen. Mazael knew them both. Mulger was a veteran of Lord Malden’s service, grizzled and graying with a growing paunch, but the man was a vicious fighter. Tollard was whip-thin and a few years younger than Mazael, but Mazael suspected Tollard had been a poacher before swearing to Lord Malden’s service, and the young armsmen was a keen bowman. 
    “Sir Mazael!” said Tollard with a bow. “Seems we’re to accompany you to the Stormvales. I suspect we’ll be killing bandits. Can’t take two steps in the Stormvales without running into a damned bloody brigand.”
    “Aye,” said Mulger. He did not talk much. Mazael thought it a virtue. 
    “We shall have to be vigilant,” said a dry voice.
    Brother Trocend Castleson stepped out of the stables, his brown robes rustling against the ground. He was a gaunt, ascetic-looking man, with thinning gray hair and a lined, weary face, and his age could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. His brown robes swallowed his lean frame, and a number of pouches hung both from his belt and a leather baldric slung across his chest. He leaned upon a cane in his right hand, but Mazael suspected that was an affectation. 
    “Brother Trocend,” said Mazael.
    “Sir Mazael,” said the monk. “It seems that Lord Malden has entrusted you with my protection during our little mission of mercy.”
    “Do you have the ransom?” said Mazael.
    Trocend tapped one of the pouches on his belt. “Fifty golden coins.”
    “That’s all?” said Mazael. 
    Trocend offered one of his thin smiles. “It seems Sir Edmund does not warrant a higher ransom, alas. Sir Traeger Highstone, it appears, is a prudent man of business.”
    “For a robber knight,” said Mazael.
    “Indeed,” said Trocend. 
    “It is just a simple exchange,” said Mazael. “I wonder why Lord Malden wishes you to accompany us. Surely he has more urgent tasks that require your attention.”
    Trocend’s thin smile never wavered. “I serve at his lordship’s pleasure. I go where I am bidden, and he has bidden me to attend this matter. Sir Edmund is a loyal vassal, and Lord Malden looks after his vassals.” 
    “Of course,” said Mazael.
    “I suggest we depart,” said Trocend, heading towards his horse. “We can make ten miles yet before nightfall, and I hope to be within the Stormvales before the week is out.” 
    “Very well,” said Mazael. He was in command of this little caravan, but everyone knew that Trocend had Lord Malden’s confidence. Mazael disliked the thought of following the withered old monk’s suggestions. Still, Trocend was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot, and his commands would likely have merit. If Trocend proved too vexing…Mazael could simply ride away. He had spent six years wandering the realm before swearing to Lord Malden’s service, and he could just as easily return to the life of a wandering knight, fighting for whoever could pay him. 
    Yet something within him rebelled at the thought. Mazael had given his oath to Lord Malden, and while he did not think of himself as a virtuous man, he was certainly not an oath breaker. He had promised to train Gerald as a knight, and Mazael had to admit the boy had promise. For that matter, Lord Malden had done nothing to betray Mazael’s loyalty. 
    Trocend nodded, and Mazael wondered just how much of his thoughts the monk had guessed. “Lead on, Sir Mazael.” 

Chapter 2: Phantoms

    “High swing,” said Mazael.
    Gerald grunted, stepped back, and got his shield up in time to block Mazael’s attack.
    Six days had passed since they had departed Knightcastle, and now Mazael and Gerald fought in a valley on the western edge of the Stormvales. Rocky hills rose around the valley, mantled in a thick forest of pine trees. A dirt road wound its way through the valley, following the passage of a bubbling stream. The air smelled clean and crisp and sharp. The