Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter IX (Part II) - When The Wolf's Away...

1364 AD

Each day was much the same as the next. Michaelmas became Christmas, Christmas turned into Easter and Lammas soon followed Easter. Erelong, I realized suddenly that I had been at Nørrdragor a full year; I was eleven now.

In all this time, I rarely thought of Lucian, who was abroad with his uncle touring Söderlund, and thence presumably to the far reaches of the south lands; beyond even the Kingdom of Gaeld: there, purportedly, to ravish wenches, slay pirates and plunder enemy gold— or so I was told by my dubious informant, Thomas.

He apprized me constantly, with his usual amiable prattling, of all of Caine and Lucian's epic adventures, but he was known to embellish whatever he might overhear from his father. Ergo, I would on most of these occasions merely nod distractedly and continue my studies as he waxed lyrical.

The truth of Lucian's so called exploits was no doubt far less risqué than my friend would have me believe: the boys that were invariably fostered away were more likely be instructed in etiquette than how best to rape and pillage. In addition, they would also be taught how to look after and sit a courser properly, care for and wield their manifold weaponry, study the art of warfare, and no doubt learn how best to move and do battle within their weighty armor.  However, Thomas, that miscreant, would have me believe otherwise.

He had appointed himself my friend and confidant and was always prepared with a ready answer to any of the many questions I would invariably ask of him; although most of what he imparted was decidedly implausible. I had, by now, gleaned enough of of my friend's character to anticipate his flair for drama and, therefore, I paid him scant heed and habitually impugned his revelations.

If I wanted to know aught of squirehood and knighthood, I would in most cases ask Carac, who had been fostered here by Godwin, and then become a knight himself — at only twenty — the same year I had been collected from the south. He had then elected to stay on at Nørrdragor.

It was he that furnished my imagination with all that one might be expected of the life of a knight in training. From the incipience of manhood — the quarterstaffs, quintains, wooden swords, and tournaments — to the final realization of knighthood and all that it pertained: namely partaking in actual combat and living by the strict warrior ethos of the Chivalric Code that fascinated me more than anything Thomas could possibly dream up.

We sat now in the lesser hall that overlooked a smaller courtyard. We had been left alone for the moment, save Astrid who sat in a corner mending one of my worn shifts, and I took to retracing my letters with my familiar, untidy script as Thomas found diversion elsewhere.

Carac happened to move by the window at the same moment I noticed Astrid watching him intently. When he chanced to look within she hastily lowered her gaze to her needlework, her face blooming with color. She then caught me smiling at her curiously, the causation of which colored her temples further.

"Lucian will become a knight the year after next. I heard my father say so." Thomas had caught a moth and was examining the little wretch closely as he pinched its wings together between his index finger and thumb.

I made a noncommittal noise as I tore my eyes from Astrid's florid cheeks and dipped my quill in the ink pot. Continuing to practicing my cursive, I scoffed at Thomas, unsure of the reliability of my classmate's information.

"And from thence home?" I asked distractedly. "Shall he and Caine be returning to Nørrdragor thereafter?" I would that they stay abroad a score more years a least!

"I know not. I believe Lucian is at odds with his father again," Thomas yawned and released the insect before ambling back toward me to gaze over my shoulder.