Fairer Than Fae

Gebhardt in the Wild Spring

"Your father expressly forbid you from entering the Black Forest?" Thormid asked in his tepid monotone, his manner much like the King Galimar of Boedor. The Iron Prince often wondered if that was why he had remained close with his childhood friend, because Thormid reminded him of the northern king whose company Gebhardt had always preferred over his own father.

"He did," Gebhardt replied, throwing a saddle onto his black steed. "He told me not to do it."

Sarus stood behind the training fence in the Knight's Pavillion where new warriors of the realm were trained before their first taste of Fae blood. Idly, the giant son of the Lord Mithal picked at the ash wood grain post with his dagger. "We are all upset by what happened to Rigimund. But perhaps Thormid and I should go by ourselves. If your father were discover your disobedience-"

"Then I will face the consequences," Gebhardt replied firmly, tightening the bridle on the animal. "Whatever they are. If we are successful, my father will only spin the news in his favor. How his gallant son returned victorious over the Fae. He may end up thanking me for it after our defeat."

Thormid nodded solemnly, his hazel eyes thoughtfully scanning the straw ridden floor of the stall where Gebhardt stood. "That is logical."

"We cannot leave him to the wilds of that evil place," Gebhardt stated vehemently, leading the horse out into the open, his dark head held high as he met the eyes of his two trusted comrades. "It has only ever been the four of us, even when Rigimund was a child. He followed us around like a puppy and he went into battle because of us, even when we all knew he was no warrior."

Sarus' head fell, a frown darkening his bearded face. "Of course, you are right. We cannot let one of those pixie wenches have her way with him, though it would be make for quite a story at the tavern for the boy."

Gebhardt attempted a smile despite the dread in his heart. It had been nearly a full day since Rigimund had gone missing from the battlefield. The three of them had searched for hours among the bodies for their young friend, but to no avail. When Rigimund's riderless horse came bounding from the wood, an iron gauntlet clutching the reins, they were left to assume the worse. Rigimund was doomed to become another lost soul of the Black Wood if they did not act fast. 

If only for the sake of the youth's mother. Rigimund was all his Aunt Amalda had left in the world. Gebhardt couldn't fail her, he had promised her that he would watch out for the boy. He could not merely accept his loss without some kind of answer.

"So when do we leave? It's a half a day's ride to the Black Forest," Thormid said, already calculating the next step in his fast working mind. The son of the royal scribe, Thormid was the same height as Gebhardt, but broader in the chest and shoulders. He slung his beloved war hammer behind his neck and scanned the other stalls for an available horse.

"Now, if you are both ready."

Sarus let out his vicious rumble of a laugh and hopped over the fence. "Then let's go get the lad. He'll owe me a round at the public house after this one and I'm mighty thirsty."

Sarus and Thormid were Gebhardt's best knights. Sarus was of the nobility, but only just. He was the bastard son of Lord Mithal who had adopted him as his heir when his legitimate wife proved infertile. He was destined to inherit the largest tracts of farmland in the Kingdom, but the Queen had always disapproved of her son's friendship with an illegitimate boy. If anything that only strengthened their bond when Sarus saw that Gebhardt refused to betray their friendship. Sarus was loyal to a fault.

Thormid was of common birth, but his father was the King's trusted scribe and advisor. Thormid and Gebhardt had been raised together in the castle. As perceptive as his father, Thormid's wisdom had seen Gebhardt through many strategic decisions in battle.