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Chapter Four

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By the time Fulcher and Bruno dressed Godfrey’s wound and cleaned him up, the flames consuming the castle had put themselves out. He kept telling himself the wound was not so bad, but his body begged to differ.  Still, it was not the first time he had been wounded in combat. He knew it would heal.

“Now back to the town,” Fallard said, handing Godfrey the reins to his horse. “You will ride into Harv and receive a hero’s welcome there after they hear what you have done.”

With a deferential nod, Godfrey mounted the horse. They set off through the swamp back to Harv. Godfrey could hardly believe what he had done as he looked back on the smoking castle. Yet the vampire’s head still lay in the mud where he had left it. He bit his lip, still wondering how he had even survived; yet he had prevailed against the vampire.

Turning back to the direction of Harv, Godfrey spurred Fallard’s horse forward at a slow walk. He thought of all the glory he would gain from this deed, but tried to temper those thoughts with humility. By slaying the vampire, he was serving all the people and, by extension, the celestial gods. Still, his heart swelled at the expression he imagined on his father’s face upon hearing the news of Godfrey’s triumph.

Duke Ulric would knight Godfrey, and then Godfrey would serve as one of his father’s retainers until he inherited the duchy. The thoughts of what was to come filled Godfrey’s head so much that he hardly noticed as the mud of the brown dead swamp and marsh gave way to the more solid ground and green breathing pine trees of the forest. Neither did he ponder the old elf road as they made their way across it again. Nor did he even notice the Sun begin to set. It was only as they approached the gates of Harv that Godfrey’s mind turned to what was directly before him.

The guards at the gate immediately brought Godfrey and his companions to the shrine they had stayed at the night before. Heralding Godfrey’s arrival, the shrine’s bell tower tolled in the fading light for the whole town to hear. Bishop Clovis, the constable, and a few other priests and town guards from the previous night were waiting for them, in addition to a curious crowd of townsfolk. Walaric stood wide-eyed beside the Bishop as he saw Godfrey come into the chapel. Lord and Lady Eist entered just a moment after Godfrey did. 

“The vampire is destroyed,” Godfrey announced. “The quest is complete; Harv will be troubled by her menace no more.”

“I, Sir Fallard, witness to the truth of this matter,” his cousin added. “Be it known that Godfrey slew the vampire with a mundane blade given to him by my own hand. He brought me the foul creature’s head as evidence of this act.”

“Well met,” the Bishop replied. “Your father will be proud, Godfrey.”

“Thank you,” Godfrey answered with a stiff bow as those gathered cheered.

“Now,” Clovis said, silencing the crowd. “I shall join your company on its journey to your father’s keep, where Sir Fallard and I will both give our recommendations for your elevation to knighthood.”

Another burst of applause filled the chamber. The congratulations Godfrey received were even more enthusiastic than what he had experienced the previous night on having taken up the quest. Even the constable seemed to give Godfrey an almost genuine smile. The guards asked questions about all the details while the priests took up a hymn to victory. Walaric started to talk Godfrey’s ear off, but cut himself short at a reproving look from Bishop Clovis.

A feast was brought in. Savory meats, sweet wine, hot bread; Godfrey was obliged to eat well more than he thought he could manage, and he was only able to refuse when he felt his stomach was about to burst open. Toasts and laurels were offered to Godfrey well after he had grown too weary to stand and receive them. Minstrels and jongleurs came to hear Godfrey tell the tale of how he had defeated the vampire, and when he had grown too tired to repeat the story, they began to hear it from others in the room. The details became exaggerated with each telling, but Godfrey was growing too tired to correct the inaccuracies.

After hours of this praise and attention, the excitement slowly died down and, just as the night before, the crowd began to disperse. Thinking on this, Godfrey realized that perhaps glory was fleeting after all. For the moment he was glad for the reprieve though. More glory could come some other time.

“Godfrey,” Lady Eist whispered in the squire’s ear as everyone else seemed to be distracted with other conversation.

“Yes?” Godfrey whispered back, a bit surprised at Lady Eist’s sudden proximity to him.

“You have avenged my daughter.” Lady Eist’s expression was far livelier than it had been the night before.

The Lady was focused, determined, and regal. Godfrey doubted any detail could escape Lady Eist’s attention in this state. He pitied whoever dared to get in this woman’s way now that she was roused from the depression that had previously overcome her.

“I will not soon forget it,” Lady Eist continued. “If misfortune should ever befall Fuetoile Keep or Bastogne at large, Harv’s loyalty will be to the son of Duke Ulric, no matter who or what threatens it. I will make sure of it.”

Godfrey nodded slowly as he processed the full implications of what Lady Eist was saying. No matter who or what? Godfrey was not sure exactly whom Lady Eist had in mind, but he knew now that he was a knight in all but name, he was in the adult world. That world was full of dangers that were less obvious than dragons. Some of those dangers were far more destructive than even the largest of the elder dragons. His father had taught him that lesson years previous.

***

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The next morning, Bishop Clovis and a trio of his retainers also joined Sir Fallard, Godfrey, and the men-at-arms outside the shrine as they prepared to leave Harv. The Bishop’s retainers wore flat-topped helmets that fully enclosed their faces except for narrow vision slits in front of their eyes. They also wore heavy mail hauberks, and were armed with longswords sheathed in gilded scabbards. Their white tabards were each marked on the front with a large blue circle in the center with four flame-like points emanating from it.

Godfrey easily recognized the star that adorned the retainers’ tabards and shields. It was the symbol of the celestial gods with its four points symbolically facing north, south, east, and west, but he was surprised to see Bishop Clovis dressed in similar attire. Godfrey had never known a cleric to wear vestments other than the finery he had seen the Bishop wear during their previous meetings. Though stories like the Tale of Cheldric frequently featured clergymen in martial roles, Godfrey had only rarely witnessed a cleric actually take up arms and armor. After staring for a moment, Godfrey realized the Bishop was perfectly right to dress in armor while traveling. The world outside the walls of towns and castles was dangerous.

Thinking about it, Godfrey also recognized that he was wrong about something else. His father’s chaplain, Turpin, was a cleric too, and Godfrey had rarely seen the grizzled man dressed for anything but battle. Even those who walked the divine paths could vary greatly in their personalities.

The only way Godfrey could distinguish the Bishop from his retainers was that Clovis only protected his head with a mail coif instead of one of the face-concealing helmets that his retainers wore. Apparently, the Bishop felt confident enough in what protection he had. Godfrey would never allow himself to go into danger without wearing his spangenhelm.

“We cannot expect you to make the long journey back home on foot,” Clovis said, leading a black horse with a white blaze to Godfrey. “The injuries you received will slow you down quite a bit.”

“I can manage,” Godfrey replied dismissively. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Perhaps not,” Clovis answered, undeterred. “Then accept this horse as a gift for your bravery and the magnitude of the deed which you accomplished. The people of Harv are grateful and the gods smile upon you this day.”

“Thank you.” Godfrey smiled graciously.

“His name is Baruch,” the Bishop told Godfrey as he handed the reins to him.

“Baruch?” Godfrey repeated as he took the reins.

“It means holiness in the celestial tongue,” Clovis explained. “Baruch’s father and mother were both fine steeds, two of the fastest and strongest I have ever owned. I suspect Baruch will serve you just as well as his parents served me.”

Godfrey bowed his head in a gesture of gratitude. Wincing slightly, he clambered into Baruch’s saddle. The pain was forgotten as Godfrey beamed at the horse, and patted his neck. Satisfied, the Bishop went back to his men. Fallard, Bruno, and Fulcher approached Godfrey as they inspected the horse.

“He’s a fine steed,” Fallard said as he circled Baruch. “He looks young and strong.”

“The product of good breeding.” Fulcher began following just behind Fallard, taking in every detail of the animal’s physique.

“You’ll get many good years out of him,” Bruno added sagely. “This horse is a very fine gift indeed.”

“I was going to wait until after you were knighted,” Fallard continued. “But since the Bishop has already given you his gift in honor of saving Harv, I will give you mine.”

Fallard handed Godfrey the sword he had used to slay the vampire. Godfrey hefted the blade in his hands for a moment, appreciating its weight. 

“Thank you, cousin.” Godfrey grabbed the sword and secured its scabbard to his belt. “It’s still not actually magical though, right?”

“No.” Fallard frowned. “Not unless you bewitched it behind my back.”

Bruno and Fulcher chortled while the faintest smile betrayed Fallard’s amusement. Knowing that the blade was not magical hardly diminished its value to Godfrey. There was a sentimental value that came from his experience in the vampire’s castle. This was the sword that saw him through that trial.

Mounted atop his own horse, the Bishop approached while his retainers followed on foot. Fallard mounted his horse as well, which then began a slow trot towards the palisade. Godfrey followed just behind Fallard, Bruno and Fulcher fell in behind Godfrey, while Clovis and his men took up the rear.

Godfrey had a steed and a sword of his own now. He knew his sword well enough though he had no name for it yet. His steed, Baruch, however, had a good enough name, though he knew nothing of the horse yet. Both deficiencies would be corrected in time, Godfrey assured himself. For now he was content just to have them.

***

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The journey to Duke Ulric’s castle, Fuetoile Keep, had taken the better part of a week thus far. The distance was not so great, but the path was difficult, and Godfrey’s wounds had not fully healed yet. The old elf road entirely disappeared for lengthy stretches. The paving stones that should have been in place had long ago been removed to build walls for some lord’s estates or other less altruistic building projects. Thick forests and steep hills also slowed down the group’s progress. 

Then there was the danger of brigands, orcs, and other monsters that lurked in the woods. They had yet to come across anything thus far, but unwary travelers who stumbled upon a challenge they could not meet were rarely shown mercy. Caution meant delay.

On the sixth day of their travels, the group struggled through a particularly dense patch of woods. They wandered for hours trying to find a path clear enough for them to lead the horses through. Eventually, they stopped at the bank of a large stream where there was a bit more of an opening. Bruno started a fire while Fulcher began skinning some rabbits he had caught earlier in the day. 

“That will make for a nice meal.” Clovis gazed at the catch longingly. “We would all be a lot hungrier without your talents.”

Fulcher acknowledged the Bishop with a deferential bow, and continued with his work. Godfrey had grown to appreciate Fulcher’s knack for hunting. He himself was not so gifted with the patience, stealth, or sharp eyes required for the trade. Fulcher’s ability to cook more than doubled his value in Godfrey’s mind.

Godfrey skipped stones down the stream, his mind wandering. The wound in his side only occasionally bothered him now, and the scratch on his face had long since been forgotten. So he took the opportunity to enjoy this simple pleasure he had rarely found the time for as a squire. He wondered if there would be more time for such games after he was knighted. Thinking on this, he concluded that the duties of a knight were probably far heavier than even a squire’s, if his experience with Fallard was any indication. Still he skipped the rocks, enjoying what idle diversion he could for the moment.

An argument broke out among the group about the best way to get back to the road. They should have reached the castle by now, but no one seemed sure about the right way to get there. Godfrey wished he could help, but if these well-traveled men did not know the way, what could he contribute to the conversation?

“The rabbits are ready,” Bruno cut into the debate.

“Yes, thank you,” Fallard said, accepting a bowl of stew from Bruno.

“Right.” the Bishop offered a conciliatory smile, taking a bowl. “Forgive me. Hunger always puts me in a bad mood.”

Godfrey detected the faint aroma of the meal up in the camp mingling with the smoke from the fire. He salivated as the smell teased his senses. But however tempting Fulcher’s cooking was, Godfrey was not quite hungry enough yet to be diverted from his game.

“Godfrey?” Bruno asked, gesturing toward the stew in the kettle.

“Just a moment,” Godfrey answered, picking up one final rock to skip across the stream.

Godfrey found a large, flat stone perfect for skipping. With an enthusiastic flick of the wrist, he threw the stone downstream. The rock bounced once, twice, but abruptly stopped on the opposite bank as it hit a log Godfrey had not noticed before. There was something familiar about the log he could not put his finger on. He scanned the log and the bank opposite from where he stood. All at once, a memory from long ago flashed in Godfrey’s mind.

“I know where we are!” Godfrey called up to the others.

Everyone turned to Godfrey with curious looks, waiting for his explanation. He climbed up from the bank, and pointed down to the log.

“You see,” Godfrey started. “That log down there. It was an old dead tree on the other bank. I snuck out of the castle one night years ago looking for monsters to fight.”

Clovis and Fallard both gave Godfrey chastising looks that made him blush. Godfrey swallowed a lump in his throat from embarrassment, but continued.

“I know it was just a silly game,” Godfrey attempted to justify himself. “I was only five years old at the time though.”

Though Godfrey knew perfectly well that his actions as a small child were hardly worth getting embarrassed over, he hated admitting them all the same. He believed he should have known better, even at that age.

“Anyway,” Godfrey stammered through his confession. “I climbed that tree, but it collapsed under my weight into the river. I didn’t get hurt, but it left me so wet and scared that I never forgot about it. Father was pretty furious with me at the time.”

Though Duke Ulric’s scorn for his son after Godfrey’s return to the castle that night was short and well-meaning, and his father never spoke of the incident again, Godfrey never forgot it. The hot flush of humiliation at having disobeyed his father and mother in the first place came back fresh every time Godfrey remembered it or one of the few other events like it. It stung him now, especially as he had to confess the transgression to others. It was probably also why he held onto his irrational fear of falling, now that he thought about it.

“Anyway,” Godfrey began again. “If we follow the river downstream for another five minutes, it will lead us out of the woods and we should be able to see Fuetoile Keep.”

“Well that is certainly good to hear,” Fulcher answered. “I would have hated to wander around the woods for another week.”

The group packed their things after everyone had finished eating. No one commented on Godfrey’s obvious chagrin over confessing his childhood misadventure. He could pretend it never happened. Godfrey preferred it that way.

As Godfrey had suggested, the group followed the water downstream. It took somewhat longer for them to get out of the woods than what Godfrey had recalled, but once they did, the sight of Fuetoile Keep was unmistakable. The whole structure was built of massive stones, and was set on a hill with a commanding view of the surrounding country. Banners with the Duke’s heraldry fluttered high atop the towers at each corner of the castle’s crenelated outer walls. The keep itself rose from behind the inner wall, which sat somewhat higher on the hill than the outer wall did.

“This is your home, Godfrey.” Fallard turned to his cousin. “You should lead us in.”

Godfrey smiled in recognition of his cousin’s noble gesture. Spurring Baruch to the front of the procession, he led the way to the open castle gates, which were large and cut from a heavy dark wood. Behind the gates lay the outer courtyard and a glimpse of the inner wall. It had been a long time since he had been here. Yet it was familiar. Nothing had changed, at least on the outside. That gave Godfrey comfort.

A herald spotted the group as they approached, and he announced their arrival with a blast from his horn. Waiting by the outer gate, Godfrey soon spotted his mother and father rushing to the gate from the courtyard. How much they had aged since Godfrey last saw them.

Godfrey’s mother, Regana, was a thin, greying woman with a delicate face and brown eyes. She had been gentle to Godfrey in his younger years, but her devotion to the gods was fierce. She spared no efforts in instilling that same reverence in Godfrey.

Duke Ulric stood about a head taller than his wife, and his thick silver beard covered his slightly rounded face. Where age had diminished the figure of Godfrey’s mother, it had merely slackened the full muscular features of his father.

Godfrey’s father had had a reputation as a fierce warrior years ago. Ulric had done much to enhance the prestige of Bastogne in his prime. Though age had begun to weaken the Duke’s body, the fire of a younger warrior still burned in his green eyes.

The Duke and Duchess embraced Godfrey as he dismounted Baruch. Ulric acknowledged Fallard and his men with a nod, while Regana gave the Bishop and his retainers a bemused smile. Looking from his parents to the entourage that had escorted him thus far, Godfrey cleared his throat.

“I’ve done it,” Godfrey sheepishly explained.

“Indeed he has,” Fallard added. “Duke Ulric, Duchess Regana, the time of your son’s training to be a knight is at an end. He has become a man, and in that time I have developed many good qualities in him; the rest were gifts bestowed by his parents and the gods.”

“The Town of Harv was plagued by a vampire,” Bishop Clovis interjected. “Your son took it upon himself to save Harv from the vampire, as well as its undead thralls, including a powerful wight. And, having successfully completed his quest, Sir Fallard and I both recommend that Godfrey be dubbed a knight.”

“And so he shall,” Duke Ulric announced, beaming at his son. “The ceremony will take place at dawn tomorrow.”

Godfrey’s spirits swelled at the praise. It was him Fallard and Bishop Clovis were talking about like the hero of a bard’s tale. The pride in his father’s face was a sight Godfrey would never forget. That meant more to Godfrey than any words someone else might say.

Regana made a grateful gesture towards the heavens and embraced her son again. The Duke and Duchess led Godfrey and his company up to the keep while the horses were put in the stables. Godfrey explained to his parents all the details of his quest to slay the vampire, as well as many of the other adventures he had been on with Fallard since the last time he was home. Most of Godfrey’s time with Fallard had been spent training in Fallard’s estates in Tyrol. However, Fallard had been called to war against the orcs twice in the last year by his own lord, the Duke of Tyrol. Those two campaigns and the previous war with the necromancer had given Godfrey plenty of practical experience with the sword. The memories of Godfrey’s last visit home before those wars seemed far distant by comparison.

“We were fortunate not to come across any orcs in the woods on the way over here,” Fallard commented.

“I think they have had enough fighting for one year,” Clovis thought aloud. “They and their troll kin took quite a beating already, and are probably licking their wounds back in their filthy hovels. Their dens are too deep in the forest for most of us to just stumble upon, fortunately.”

“We may yet see a few raiding parties before winter sets in,” Ulric noted grimly. 

“I pray not.” Regana shot her husband an accusing look.

“As do I,” Ulric answered with a defensive gesture. “We will be ready all the same. But we will speak more on that later.” 

“For the moment...” Regana turned to her son. “I believe Godfrey should prepare for the ceremony at hand.”

“Yes,” Clovis agreed. “The dubbing of a knight is a ceremony the gods take a keen interest in. Godfrey, I advise fasting and prayer until we commence with the ritual.”

“Of course,” Godfrey replied.

The group passed through the inner curtain wall’s gatehouse to the main courtyard. A few wooden buildings hugged the interior of the wall; a barracks, the stable, a couple of storehouses. Upon reaching the keep, Godfrey went to his room while Fallard, Clovis, and the others were shown to various guest chambers.

Godfrey’s room had few personal belongings in it, as he had not really lived there for most of his life. His time with Fallard had always left Godfrey feeling transient. Fuetoile Keep, though an infrequent destination, was at least a place where Godfrey had always known he was welcome.

Surveying the room, Godfrey wondered what he would actually fill it with now that he would be home more or less permanently. A large comfy bed filled a good portion of the room while a desk, a mirror, and an armoire occupied three walls. Perhaps he would get a shelf and start filling it with books. He had little time to read as it was, but that might change one day. The wisdom of ancient writers intrigued Godfrey, during what little exposure he had to them.

Remembering why he had isolated himself from his family and friends, Godfrey knelt in prayer, facing the window. The Sun was bright in the midafternoon sky, though a few large billowing clouds rolled towards the horizon. Concentrating his thoughts, Godfrey began his prayer in earnest.

Loxias, Godfrey silently addressed the Sun God. Lord of light and ruler of the skies, help me to be strong. Help me to be a worthy knight, and help me to always put my sword to good causes. As the Duke’s son, I am afraid others may try to manipulate me for their own ends. Help me to be wise so that I may not fall into such traps. Help me to be both brave and wise.

Silence was the only immediate answer Godfrey received as the clouds began to obscure the Sun’s light. Still he knelt, repeating requests and adding more as he could think of them. His thoughts eventually trailed off, and he began pondering his life as he stared out the window.

After some time, the Sun broke through the clouds, and somehow made Godfrey feel everything would be okay. It was inexplicable how a bit of light could reassure him that his future would work out and that the gods were pleased with him. He felt it all the same.

“Thank you,” Godfrey concluded his prayer, rising to his feet.

A herald down at the outer wall’s gate blew his trumpet, signaling the arrival of some new traveler. Peering down into the courtyard, Godfrey saw his father hurrying to greet his second unexpected arrival of the day. Godfrey did not recognize the knights who saluted his father, but he quickly spotted the royal banner among them. Sure enough, the knights’ tabards and shields all bore the royal heraldic eagle. One of them wore a golden eagle displayed against a red field on his tabard and shield, just as the royal banner did. That, Godfrey was sure, was King Wilhelm if the crown fitted onto the man’s spangenhelm was not indication enough. Though the new King made regular visits to his dukes and counts since his ascension three years ago, Godfrey nervously bit his lip as he considered the timing of Wilhelm’s arrival. Surely, this was no coincidence.