Treffen woke before dawn and slipped over to the storehouse to fill his travel packs. A shadow darkened the doorway, and he looked up to see the Knight. His armor was dented and worn, but polished to the slight gleam that remained in the hardened steel. His helmet visor was closed, shadowing his face inside. On the front of his breastplate was the scuffed emblem of a walking bear, and that motif was repeated on his gauntlets and metal shins.
The Silver Bear holds the key.
The words rattled in Treffen’s head, along with the rest of the message. Three will descend. One will not emerge.
Is it him? Is this clanking oaf part of the Tree’s message? Surely not. Treffen sighed. “I’m supposed to guide you to Stonebridge. Try to keep up.”
The Knight moved aside, and Treffen scooted past him into the early morning light. Master Birch nodded a farewell, and Gawain creaked along behind him. As they moved into the forest, Treffen glanced back toward the Deeproot Tree. A breeze rustled the high branches of the towering trees around him, and the whisper came to his ears sounding almost like a snicker.
* * *
The first night they camped under the stars. Sir Gawain removed his helmet, and Treffen got a good look at the man’s face. He was young, but adult. Compared to elves, humans lived and died so quickly. Treffen thought the man might not be much older than he was. He looked tired, with the beginnings of frown lines already etched into his forehead. His hands raked through sweaty dark hair, mashed down by his helmet. He sat awkwardly on the hard ground and pulled a small meal of dried meat from his pack.
Treffen pulled out his own meal, and they ate in silence. When they were finished, Gawain lay back on the ground, using his pack as a pillow. He set his helmet on his chest and closed his eyes.
Treffen couldn’t stand it any longer. “Are you really going to sleep in your armor?”
Gawain’s eyes snapped open. “Of course.” He closed his eyes.
Treffen waited another silent moment. “Because if you want to be more comfortable, I can help you get it off.” A thought occurred to him, and he hastily added, “Assuming you have something on underneath it.” Goddess, he hadn’t even thought about that before. Of all the things he wanted to sleep next to, an armored man was far better than a naked man.
“I’m fine.”
What a weird guy. Treffen thought for a moment. “Why were you summoned to Stonebridge?”
“None of your business.”
Treffen sat back. Elves never kept secrets from one another. Clearly, he had a lot to learn about Knights. “So . . . did you used to have a horse?”
Gawain sighed and creaked up to a sitting position. “I took a solemn vow of pedestrianism. I do not require a horse. And I always wear my armor.”
The word “pedestrianism” sounded like Gawain had grumbled it a hundred times. Which he probably had. Everybody must ask him that. Kind of silly, though. And impractical.
“So if you’re always in armor, how do you . . .”
“I am a Questing Knight,” Gawain said. “Perhaps you don’t know what that means, young elf, but it is a title I have earned. And a Questing Knight wears his armor with pride. All the time.”
He lay back and closed his eyes, a clear sign that the conversation was over.
Well now I get it, Treffen thought, watching the man pretend to sleep. No wonder he’s such a grump. It’s a wonder he can even walk with how constipated he must be.