The Paltry Warrior

Chapter Two

Kit awoke in the early morning with a start. Covered in a cold sweat, another nightmare had stirred his sleep, which was becoming a common occurrence of late. He grabbed a rough blanket and dried his face, laying back down on his hay-stuffed mattress that gave him a constant itch.

"Savings, my boy," his grandfather would tell him whenever he complained of a rash. "Provision for the future. I could spend every pound I have on a feather mattress and fancy silk sheets, but what good would come of it? A smart man counts his pennies and keeps them close to his chest."

He had a point, but still; Kit wouldn't mind a morning's wash that wasn't spent picking straws of hay from his hair and scratching at his skin. These days, however, the old man certainly wasn't short of a dime- a far cry from the years Kit remembered going hungry at dinner as a boy. His grandfather had been granted Lordship last summer by King Richard- 'The Good King', people called him- but Kit never saw any difference in his grandfaher's spending habits. Instead, he had turned down the offer of a fancy holding in another province, taking offence at the King's suggestion.

"I've spent my life's work running these stables," Lord Kynnin had said, "And I'll be damned in the name of the Gods if I'll be shafted out of my city once I've reached my expiry! Damn the King and damn his wretched Lordship." The usually gentle old Stable Master could be a right old prick when he wanted to, Kit thought.

He begrudgingly rose from the bed and dragged himself to the mirror placed upon the night stand. Kit stared at the reflection looking back at him, and took in the tired, overburdened reflection of himself. A young man of twenty, his dark blonde hair was too long and shaggy, and certainly needed a trim, falling over his eyes if he neglected to flip it sideways. His normally sparkling blue eyes looked dull and deep set from exhaustion, and a light stubble had begun to appear, making him look a little older than he perhaps was.

Kit decided that his facial hair reminded him of his father. A gallant knight of the King's army, his father Leroy Ordon had been a strikingly handsome man, who'd fought with bravery and honour, and served his young family in the same manner. Whilst he actually remembered very little of his father, enough tales were told that Kit felt as though he knew him well. When Leroy Ordon was struck down in battle and killed, his fellow knights made sure to retrieve the body and that of his noble steed, in order to return them to Galikath for a true knight's burial. Kit's mother had died less than one year later; some say she died of heartache, and to look at her son, who so strongly resembled her husband, only served to remind her of the soulmate she had lost. To this very day, people who had known his father always commented on their resemblance, and the guilt of that had stuck with Kit for his entire life.

Pulling on his boots, dark slacks and an emerald green coat, as was expected in a time of mourning, Kit made his way out of the small house, ready to brave another day. He had decided to leave his beloved mare at the stables overnight to give her a break from the cold, instead walking to and from the Castle Stables where he worked. As he trudged along the winding gravel road into the city, Kit thought about the tasks he had ahead of him. The King's Royal Adviser would be making a visit around 'noon to discuss the horses required for the Queen's funeral processions.

"We shall be in need of 26 of your finest white stallions," he had said the week before. "All are to be quiet and sound, and any misbehaviour will be reflected unfavourably back onto the Stable Master, with whom we are appointing this duty."

Kit supposed that he was the Stable Master these days, as his grandfather rarely left the house, preferring to dictate orders and expectations to Kit about his duties from the comfort of his favourite seat. It was taking a toll on the usually handsome young man, who was looking above his years.

Taking in the crisp, cold air, Kit let his mind wander as he passed the farm houses lining the way. He was unhappy. In fact, he was downright angry at times. Why was it that a fit young man was unable to decide his own journey? Why were sons and daughters of royalty and noblemen free to decide their fate, and yet Kit was destined to a life of running around after castle horses and their ignorant riders? No, Kit wanted to be a knight like his father. Ever since he could remember, Kit had imagined himself as part of the Valamond King's Barrier; a small team of seven, they were the highest ranking knights in all of the realm.