Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter 5: Join Me

That evening, Berion was at the home of the Chief Magistrate. He dared not drink much, afraid that drunkenness might lead to embarrassment. Besides, dining with an elder demanded careful words and cautious manners, which exhausted him. Not long after, Berion excused himself and left. Upon returning to his uncle’s house, he briefly recounted the evening, mentioning only the gift of a gilded bronze knight statue, omitting the matter of the silver coins—after all, the fewer people knew about this unexpected fortune, the better.

The next morning, Berion had just risen when he saw his uncle enter, accompanied by a man dressed as a knight. Berion stepped forward and greeted him warmly, “Sir Tully, how did you find your way here?” The knight introduced by Sir Rudy was none other than Logan’s eldest son. He had long served at Rolf Castle, the domain of the Chancellor, but thanks to his father, he had known Berion for many years.

Sir Tully dismounted and handed Berion a bundle. “I went to Valonburg to look for you, but you weren’t there. Luckily, I ran into Sir Rudy on the street and learned you were staying here, so I followed him. Here—this is my father’s suit of chainmail and his visored helm. They are yours.”

Berion was about to decline, but Sir Tully patted his shoulder and said, “Take them. First, because you risked your life to bring back my father’s body, and our family owes you gratitude. Second, while my father lived, he made it a rule that any squire who earned a knight’s title should receive a gift from us. I heard from Sir Rudy that you only have a leather jerkin, worn for years, and with the knighting ceremony only two days away, you must have proper armor.”

For the first time since arriving in this world, Berion was moved by the people native to it. No matter how backward society might seem, true friendship was priceless. Logan and his son were indeed knights of virtue and honor.

Berion no longer protested and gratefully accepted the gift. Opening the bundle, he saw the visored helm had been polished and the damaged chainmail had been repaired. Warmth filled his heart. “Sir Tully, thank you. I, Berion Tucker, will never forget this kindness.”

Sir Tully smiled. “It is I who should thank you. Besides, let’s not stand on ceremony between us.”

Berion and Sir Rudy laughed. Berion wanted to invite Sir Tully to stay for a meal, but the knight said he needed to hurry to the court to meet the Chancellor. Before leaving, he reminded Berion to buy a proper knight’s sword on the street, since, as a landed knight, he could no longer use the battered sword he wielded as a squire.

After Sir Tully departed, Berion mounted his horse and rode out, determined to follow the advice and purchase a worthy knight’s sword. He stopped in front of the largest smithy on Craftsman’s Street. The stable boy hurried over, bowing deeply. “Honored sir, are you here for armor or weapons? Hammerstone Smithy is the finest in the Duchy of Brick. Our armor will keep you safe from enemy blades, and our swords will finish an enemy in a single stroke.”

Berion was amused by the boy, who, though only eleven or twelve, was remarkably eloquent. Clearly, the shop’s owner trained his staff well. Berion dismounted, handed over the reins, “I’m here for a knight’s sword. Feed my horse some hay and water. Here are two solis for your trouble.” He gave the boy two copper coins and walked into the smithy as the boy thanked him profusely.

Inside, a smith who had overheard Berion’s conversation with the stable boy greeted him and led him to a wall lined with swords. As the smith introduced the blades, he repeatedly handed Berion swords to test their grip.

After trying several, Berion was dissatisfied. “These swords don’t handle well, like the one you just gave me—the balance is off. Others are too ornate, unsuitable for real combat. I’m not satisfied. Do you have anything better?”

Realizing Berion knew his way around swords, the smith asked, “Sir, what price are you planning for your sword?”

Berion smirked inwardly—he had worked in sales in his previous life, and recognized the tactic. He replied, “It’s not about how much I plan to spend, but whether you have a blade worthy of emptying my purse.”

Hearing this, the smith recognized he was dealing with an expert and promptly invited Berion to enter the forge at the back, away from the storefront. Inside, the place bustled with activity: dozens of smiths and their apprentices hammered away, flames roaring. Employing so many smiths spoke to the shop’s strength. In this era, smiths were valuable technicians, often directly employed by lords for forging weapons, armor, and building castles.

Passing the glowing furnaces, Berion was led to a small room where the swords differed markedly from those out front: these were crafted for real fighters, comfortable in hand and made from good materials. It was a pity the era had yet to develop quenching or steelmaking techniques—otherwise, even finer weapons could be made. Berion considered recruiting some smiths in the future to experiment with these methods; success would mean more than wealth, but a well-equipped army as well.

After a lengthy search, Berion finally selected a knight’s sword to his satisfaction: the scabbard was of tanned leather with copper edging and engraved with simple yet elegant designs. The blade was the perfect length, comfortable with both one-handed and two-handed grip. After testing it by slicing a rolled straw mat, Berion confirmed its sharpness and decided to buy it.

Having witnessed Berion’s discerning tests, the smith avoided too many pricing tricks. After bargaining, Berion purchased the sword for one hundred and fifty denars.

Just as Berion was about to leave, a commotion erupted inside. He turned to look but saw nothing. The middle-aged cashier explained, “Sir, inside is a palace guard encountering some trouble, trying to pawn his armor and sword. Perhaps he thinks our price too low—he shouted a bit.”

Hearing this, Berion felt compelled to investigate. Palace guards lived and ate together; everyone knew each other well. If someone was in real difficulty, Berion would help within his means.

Just as he moved closer to listen, the guard stormed out angrily. Berion recognized him instantly—it was Eomer, his roommate. Berion quickly stopped him. “Eomer, what’s happened? Why are you so upset?”

Eomer’s anger faded immediately upon seeing Berion. He sighed, “I urgently need money and tried to pawn my armor and sword, but the swindler offered only a hundred denars. That’s robbery! The iron-plated cuirass alone cost twice that—my father paid two hundred denars to have it made.”

Seeing Eomer’s agitation, Berion hurried to calm him. “This isn’t the place to talk. Let’s find a tavern on Wine Street and discuss it over a drink.” He led Eomer out.

At a tavern on Wine Street, Berion ordered apple pie, pickled pork, and two large mugs of ale. Eomer raised his glass first, congratulating Berion on becoming a true knight, then began his tale. “While you were off fighting bandits, the Grand Knight’s relative arrived at court to serve as a guard and squire. He’s a spoiled brat—no skill, never trains, and even skips his guard duties to go out. As lieutenant of the palace guard, I couldn’t let this slide, so I had him flogged twenty times. That offended both him and the Grand Knight.”

Berion knew his friend’s martial skill—Eomer was among the best in the palace guard, masterful in both mounted and foot combat. Though only eighteen, he regularly sparred with seasoned knights and won more often than not. Yet his flaw was a volatile temper and rigid ways—not ideal in the complicated palace environment. For this, he had long antagonized the noble and merchant sons among the guards.

“Even so, he broke the rules. Surely you don’t have to pay for his medical bills? The Grand Knight can’t be that unreasonable,” Berion comforted him.

“That’s not the main cause. The Grand Knight recently bought new warhorses—you know I love horses. I got excited and secretly took a few out for a trial ride, something we often did without trouble. But this time, a rabbit hole pulled a horse’s leg and broke it. I meant to cover it up, buy a new horse to replace it, since the count matched. But next day, the Grand Knight found out—thanks to that brat snitching. The Grand Knight stripped me of my lieutenant’s rank, expelled me from the palace guard, and demanded double compensation at market price. If I can’t pay, I’ll be forced to serve five years in the stables,” Eomer said, dejected.

Bad luck seemed to follow Eomer—everything went wrong. But Berion would never mock his friend. “How much are you short?”

Mentioning money made Eomer even gloomier. “A lot. The palace demands eight hundred denars. I have only two hundred, so I’m six hundred short.”

Berion knew Eomer’s father was only a probationary knight—his fief just a three-hundred-acre farm passed down through generations. To send both Eomer and his brother to the palace guard, his father had borrowed heavily for their equipment. Now he couldn’t help further, which was the root of Eomer’s pain—he simply couldn’t raise the money and would have to serve as a stablehand, a fate worse than death for a knight’s son and martial prodigy.

Berion pulled out a pouch, withdrew six gold coins, and placed them before Eomer. Eomer stared in surprise, “Berion, are you lending me money?”

Berion nodded. “Yes, I am. I can’t stand by while my friend is sent to the stables.”

Eomer stared at the coins for a long moment, then shook his head firmly. “Berion, I can’t accept this. I can never repay you. As a palace guard, I had wages, but now I have nothing—only work as a caravan guard or mercenary, unsure when I could repay you.”

Berion understood his friend and had anticipated this. He smiled and explained, “Since you have few ways to earn, why don’t you let me hire you? The Chief Magistrate appointed me deputy constable of the direct shire, tasked with suppressing bandits. But I have no troops—only what I recruit myself. I trust your skill and character; we’ve known each other for years. Come work for me, starting as instructor or captain. When you earn distinction, I’ll petition for you to become a probationary knight, maybe even a full knight. That way, I’ll have a competent subordinate, and you’ll have a new path.”

Eomer’s frown eased, and he laughed. “Very well, Sir Berion! From today, Eomer is your man! As for wages, forget them—just feed, house, and keep me supplied with drink.” He raised his mug.

“Ha ha, agreed. There’ll be no shortage of ale,” Berion said, clinking glasses with him.

They drank for a while. Upon learning Eomer had been expelled from the palace guard and now had nowhere to stay, Berion arranged a room at the tavern and gave Eomer fifty denars for lodging and food, urging him to stay out of trouble for the next two days. After Berion’s knighting ceremony, they would leave Valonbray together.

The next day dawned, and Sir Rudy roused Berion early, telling him to bathe and dress in armor. He then escorted him to the court at Valonburg, where Berion would receive instruction from several seasoned knights and complete the vigil—a prerequisite before being formally knighted tomorrow.

Though the ceremony was tedious, Berion admitted it held a strong sense of ritual. He recalled a line from “The Little Prince”: “Ritual is what makes one day different from another, one moment different from the next.” It was this very difference that made a day, a moment, worthy of lifelong remembrance.