Chapter 0 - The Rogue Knight

The Rogue Knight
Vesian I
 
              The aftermath of a battle was usually somber. However, on this day, Vesian found himself quite giddy. The battle had been quick. They had spied the orcish warband from afar while remaining hidden themselves, despite all their knightly splendor and heraldry. Aided by a woodsman, they had taken the orcs unaware and ridden them down as they panicked. 
              From his seat on a wooden fence, Vesian surveyed the carnage while running a hand through his fair hair. The orcs lay in heaps along the shaded road. Knights and the local peasants moved among the bodies, looting, and finishing off any wounded orcs left behind. Vesian laid his sword across his lap and breathed deep. The air was thick with the scent of blood and death, but beneath it he detected the scent of victory. The raiders would despoil the kingdom’s wealth no more. Whatever remained of the warband was crawling its way home through the undergrowth even as knights roamed far from the battlefield in pursuit. 
              His superior, Sir Leoric de Toron, approached, leading a band of knights underneath his banner.
              “Fine work today, Vesian,” he cheered from the saddle. Vesian returned his greeting with a salute. “The Duke’s men are pursuing the rest of the marauders, and he has released us from our contract.”
              “Well then,” Vesian replied, “I have other affairs to see to.” He rose from the fence and summoned his squire.
              “We are heading north,” Leoric went on, “the Comte de Montgrise claims to have seen griffons nesting near his keep. Will you join us?”
              “I’m afraid not,” Vesian replied, “I will return to Chateau Valeur and see to the recent happenings along the Verge.”
              “Good luck to you then,” Sir Leoric spurred his horse and he and his knights went off down the road.
              “The horses are ready,” said Thibault, appearing at his master’s side with the stallions in tow.
              “A loyal squire as always,” Vesian said, taking the reins from his squire. He swung into the saddle of a tall, white-haired courser named Zephyr. 
              “What is this trouble in the Verge?” Thibault inquired as he mounted own horse, a palfrey named Rascal. Behind him trailed their packhorse, Gotila, named for his former master he had born to the Temple of Kanaron.
              “Nothing much. But I wish to avoid seeing the Comte after the ugliness at the tournament.”
              “Ah, that’s who her uncle was,” said Thibault as realization came to him at last. “Your discretion is wise. His temper is infamous.”
              “As is his swordarm. But come, there is a little inn to the south of here where we can spend the night before we head south again. Then who knows where we’ll go? Perhaps to court?”
              “Or to the Grotto Under the Hill again?”
              “Or wherever the wind takes us!”
 
              The sun was nearly set by the time they reached the Crooked Bough Inn. The old inn was slate roofed with glass windows, a stately building out of place in the far-flung reaches of the kingdom. Warm lights shone out its windows and from the lantern by the door. As Vesian and Thibault entered the palisaded courtyard, an old man in a bright green tunic stopped casting hay into the stable stalls and looked up at them.
              “Good evening, sirs. Are you staying the night?”
              “We are, sirrah.” Vesian dismounted and handed the reins to Thibault. The squire then led their three horses to the stable and handed them over to the old man.
              “It’s two copper bits for each of them,” the man told them, and Thibault handed over the money.
              “Thank you, sirs. I’ll have them watered and fed and ready to ride soon as the sun’s up.”
              Inside, the room was lit by the warm glow of wrought iron chandelier studded with dozens of candles. The tables were sparsely occupied by humble merchants, the occasional pilgrim, and four sergeants. Vesian recognized the four of them as men who had ridden with the army earlier in the day. Two serving wenches attended their table, pouring wine. Both were pale and slender, one red-headed and the other blonde. The sergeants were making advances on them as they served. One man claimed he had a cock to put a stallion to shame and another grabbed a handful of the blonde girl’s plump ass. She yelped and clutched her pitcher of ale to her bosom, some of the froth splashing out onto her bodice.
              When the wenches saw Vesian enter, resplendent in his mail and surcoat, they quickly excused themselves from the boorish sergeants’ table. The redheaded girl retreated into the kitchen while her companion crossed to the table that Vesian chose, even before he sat down. The sergeants called after them in disappointment as the wenches scurried away.
              The blonde girl smiled sweetly at Vesian as he sat down, her eyes drawn to his blue surcoat emblazoned with a golden griffon on a white escutcheon and her little mouth crooked into a shy, anxious smile. 
              “How may I serve you, sir?” she asked, her voice high and sweet. She blushed as Vesian met her eyes. He removed his sword belt and leaned the scabbard against the table.
              “A room for the night, and dinner for the both of us. We’ve already paid your stablehand.”
              “Of course, sir,” the girl held out her hand and Vesian gave her the money for the room and board. She retreated to the kitchen, where the dour old innkeeper glowered at them from beneath his bushy eyebrows. She and the redheaded girl reemerged, the redhead was carrying a pair of pewter goblets filled with dark red wine while her blonde companion carrying two bowls of stew. They set the food and drinks down in front of their patrons and smiled.
              “Good health to you, sirs,” the redheaded girl bubbled. Vesian took a spoon from her apron for himself and another for Thibault. 
              “Thank you, girl,” Vesian said as he dug into the stew. The wenches hovered anxiously over them, reluctant to leave.
              “Those ruffians are looking at us,” Thibault said quietly. Vesian slipped a look their way and found that his squire was right. The four men leaned forward over their table, flagons in front of them as they exchanged gruff looks and low voices. Vesian paid them no mind.
              “They fought well today,” Vesian replied.
              “Did you fight in the battle today?” the blonde girl asked, taking a seat unprompted. 
              Vesian nodded, his spoon in his mouth.
              “What was it like? Were the orcs as hideous as they say?” the redhead bubbled, taking a seat next to her companion and leaned so far forward she nearly pushed the blonde off the bench,
              “It was exhilarating,” Vesian replied, “the thrill of victory is unmatched by any other sensation.”
              “Is it?” the blonde girl asked, leaning in so that Vesian could see down her bodice. “How many other sensations have you experienced, sir knight?”
              Vesian cracked a smile. “Quite a few of them, my dear. Are there any in particular you think I should experience?”
              “We could show you a few things,” the redheaded added, reaching across to put her hand on his.
              “Well, that sounds intriguing. But let us finish eating first. It’s been a hard day.”
              The blonde girl sat back, her lips in a pout. Vesian laughed.
              “Once I’ve eaten, I’ll have all night for war stories and… other pursuits.” He reached out to pull her bodice down just an inch. She giggled and playfully slapped his hand away.
              “I’m Juliette,” the blonde said, bowing her head in deference. “This is Melisende. We’re happy to be at your service, sir.”
              “I am Vesian de Surrac, a knight errant of the Order of the Griffon. This is my loyal squire Thibault.”
              Thibault grunted and nodded at them, still shoveling stew into his mouth.
              “What is the life of a knight errant like?” Melisende wondered aloud. “It sounds wonderful, roaming from place to place without a care in the world.”
              “It can be,” Vesian admitted, “Though there is often great danger in the life.”
              “It sounds so exciting,” Juliette gasped, “Things around here are always so dull.” Her pout returned.
              Vesian finished his stew and launched into a tale of the army’s exploits earlier in the day. Juliette and Melisende leaned in, enraptured, as he made a few changes for the benefit of the story. In his retelling, he moved himself and Thibault from the middle of the riding column to the forefront and took credit for the woodsman’s shortcut for himself. Between himself and his squire, Vesian claimed they had slain forty of the orcs, who numbered not the thousand or so corpses that lay on the road, but instead a more impressive ten thousand. 
              Juliette, eyes wide in awe, ran her hand down his arm as his tale neared its end. But they were interrupted by the rowdy sergeants. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a thick black mustache, loomed over Thibault’s back. Vesian looked up annoyed, only to see the sergeant returning his expression.
              “We’re waiting on our drinks over here, wench,” the sergeant snapped. “What are we paying you for anyway?”
              “Calm down and take a seat, sirrah,” Vesian replied, “I was regaling these fine women with the tale of our victory earlier today.”
              “Yes, I heard,” the sergeant growled, “Just like a knight, to come in and claim all the glory when we’ve done all the work.”
              Vesian’s good cheer vanished.
              “You think to claim my glory?” he shot back.
              “Aye, the glory and these wenches. We were here nearly an hour before you rode in. I don’t like having my women stolen any more than my credit.”
              Vesian stood up and stepped away from the table, into reach of his sword leaning against the table.
              “Your glory? Was it your banner that flew over the column? I think not. These are clearly not your women either.”
              “Aye,” Juliette squeaked, “these four have been harassing us since they walked in the door.”
              The sergeant stepped close to Vesian. Though the knight was uncommonly tall, he still found himself standing eye-to-eye with the big commoner. 
              “I don’t see any other knights here, sir. Perhaps you and your squire ought to leave the women to us.”
              “You mean to threaten me? With only four of you? Thibault, perhaps you can sit this one out. Leave these ruffians to me.”
              “Oh, no you don’t,” Thibault replied, standing up himself, “I’d never leave you alone in a fight.”
              “Lads,” the sergeant barked, and his companions stood up from their table, hefting their blades as they approached. “Last chance to leave, sir knight,” the leader growled.
              The girls scurried away to the kitchen. 
              “Go on then,” Vesian urged to the sergeants, “Strike a knight of the Order. See what happens.”
              The sergeant wavered for a moment and then went for his dagger. Vesian was quicker, and in one motion drew his sword and slammed the pommel into the man’s jaw, sending him staggering backwards. The other three came one, their battered old swords swinging and thrusting. But they were no match for Vesian’s longsword of castle steel, forged by a master swordsmith and cared for like a prize stallion. Vesian parried two sword blows in one motion and returned a strike that caught in the man’s gambeson.
              As he struggled to get his sword free, the lead sergeant recovered and slashed down at his wrist. But before the blow landed, Thibault lunged for the man, dagger in hand. The squire plunged the dagger into the man’s side, carrying him to the floor. The two of them tangled together on the floor, the sergeant crying out in pain as the other inn patrons fled in fear.
              Vesian tore his sword point free and slashed his blade in a wide arc, pushing the other three sergeants back from Thibault. As their leader cried out in pain again, one sergeant darted past Vesian’s blade and stabbed Thibault in the back. The squire roared in pain, but did not release his grip on his own dagger. Vesian brought his sword down on the man’s back and slashed a bloody arc through his tunic.
              The man fell to the floor, insensate in pain and Vesian raised his blade again.
              “That’s enough of this,” he declared, “All four of you, out. Now. Or I will slay your friend where he lies on the floor.”
              The remaining sergeants wavered, their eyes going from their wounded leader to their unconscious friend. Thibault, clutched at his wound with his spare hand.
              “I yield,” the leader hissed through gritted teeth. “Let us go our separate ways.”
              “Indeed,” Vesian replied. “Get out of the inn. Spend your night in the stable or the woods, I do not care. But I will not share a roof with men who tried to kill me and mine.” 
              Thibault slowly rose from the floor and withdrew his dagger. The leader cried out again as the blew withdrew from his wound, but his men were there quickly to staunch the bleeding. The two uninjured men then helped their companions from the room, pausing at the door to shoot looks of hatred as Vesian.
              Juliette and Melisende reemerged in the aftermath to bring water and bandages to Thibault. The other patrons slowly returned to their seats, but soon after drifted off to bed. Vesian and his squire sat at their table, tending to his wound with the aid of the serving wenches. 
              “There,” Melisende pronounced, “That should serve you until you find a priest or healer.”
              Thibault grunted in discomfort and took a long draw on a bottle of wine Juliette had brought out. The wenches turned their attention to Vesian. 
              “We should thank you for driving those ruffians away, sir. Perhaps we could hear more of your war stories in your room?”
              “That sounds wonderful,” Vesian replied. The three of them helped Thibault up the stairs to their room, which overlooked the palisaded courtyard. As the women settled Thibault onto a bed, Vesian looked out the window for any sign of the sergeants but saw none. Turning back to the bed, he saw that Thibault had stripped off his shirt. The women, however, were approaching Vesian.
              “Do you have any battle scars to show off?” Juliette asked, running her hands over his mailed chest. “
              “Let me show you,” he said, pulling his surcoat over his head. His mail fell clinking to the floor as the girls drew close. Cooing with delight, Juliette ran her hand over his bared chest, her fingertips touching each scar on his chest. Vesian pulled on the strings of her kirtle and her bodice fell open, exposing a pair of small, pale breasts crowned with rosy pink nipples. Giggling, she kissed her way down his chest until she reached his breeches. As she did, Melisende leaned in to steal a kiss for herself.
              As Juliette undid his belt, Vesian’s gaze went to his wounded squire, lying all alone on the bed. The girls clearly preferred the tall and handsome Vesian to his short and stocky squire. 
              “Do not neglect my good squire,” he whispered into Melisende’s ear. She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes before reluctantly going from his to Thibault on the bed. As she did, Vesian’s hard cock flopped out of his breeches and into Juliette’s waiting hands. Smiling impishly, she wrapped her soft lips around it. 
              On the bed, Melisende had stripped for Thibault, revealing a lithe body and a round little ass. Thibault unlaced his breeches to free his cock, trying to stifle a wince as he disturbed his wound in the process. Stroking his cock with one hand, he slipped two fingers of the other inside Melisende’s and began to play with her sex. Vesian wound his fingers through Juliette’s blonde hair as she sucked his cock. Melisende gently removed Thibault’s hand from her sex and began to suck his cock herself. 
              Looking into Juliette’s pretty green eyes as she pleasured him, Vesian caressed her white shoulders and fondled her little breasts. She giggled around his cock and plunged it into her mouth as far as she could take it. When at last both he and Thibault were hard, Vesian stood up and positioned Juliette on the bed. He lay her on her back, with Melisende beside her and their arms interlinked. He set their hips at the edge of the beds so that he might stand on the floor while fucking them. Then he and Thibault each slid their cocks into a girl and began to thrust. 
              The girls embraced each other and kissed as the thrusting increased in pace. Vesian grabbed one of Juliette’s bouncing breast in one hand and he squeezed it tight. Thibault kept up with him, fucking Melisende lustily. The bed scraped against the floor under the force of his thrusts. Juliette squealed in delight as Vesian slid his thumb inside her. 
              He and his squire fucked the girls eagerly, the little room filling with their delighted screams as they did. Juliette pleaded with them to fuck her harder, to spank her, and to kiss her soft little mouth. All of these things they did with enthusiasm. 
              When he feared he was about to cum, Vesian stood up from Juliette and put a hand on Thibault’s shoulder. Without a word, Thibault switched places with him, sliding his cock into Juliette as Vesian mounted Melisende.
              The girls showed none of their previous preference for Vesian, now happily drunk on lust for any man who presented himself. Juliette wound her fingers through Thibault’s hair even as Vesian wrapped his powerful hands around her friend’s neck. Melisende threw her head back and cried out in delight as he did, her blue eyes rolling back into her head. 
              “Oh, I’m going to cum!” Thibault gasped. Juliette, hands clutching the sheets, giggled in delight.
              “Cum on my face!” she cried, opening her pretty mouth and extending her tongue. Thibault did as asked, pulling his cock out of her just as he spurted his first. He launched long white ropes of sticky seed onto her face, where they dripped into her eyes and mouth. 
              Sensing Vesian was close as well, Melisende grabbed him close to her and bit at his ear. He continued fucking her until he finished, spurting his cum into her until she overflowed and dripped it onto the bed beneath them.
              Tired and spent, Vesian and Thibault fell into bed next to the serving wenches and soon afterwards drifted off to sleep.
 
              Vesian rose before the dawn to find that Melisende had already left. Juliette was dressing herself before the window, her body silhouetted by the early morning light. When she saw he was awake, she came to the bed and leaned in for a kiss.
              “Good morning, sir knight.”
              “Good morning, wench,” he replied. “I regret that I must leave you now, but I’ll be thinking of you on the road.”
              “Whenever you’re in the area again, please do stop by.”
              “Of course,” he promised.
              He dressed and ate his breakfast along with Thibault. The sun rose over the woods and fields as they collected their horses at the stable. In good time, they bid goodbye to the girls and rode southeast towards the Argent River. They had not gone far when Vesian noticed his squire looking pale.
              “Thibault, are you alright?”
              “I am, sir. I fear that wound from last night is wearing a bit harder on me than I expected.”
              “You don’t look alright. Come, there is a witch who lives near here. She can dress and treat your wound better than a pair of tavern wenches. It won’t be far, just hold on.”
              Steering Zephyr near to Thibault’s own steed, he guided his squire down the road until they turned into a small wood. The boughs hung low over their heads, scraping against Vesian’s coif as he passed beneath them. The lances stowed on the packhorse twice got caught on the low-hanging branches. The trees closed in around them until they had to dismount. The light grew dim, though they were barely two hours past dawn. At last, they came to a hovel of timber and plaster with a thatched roof. 
              Vesian peered ahead, the scent of firewood in his nostrils. He looked back to Thibault. The squire was pallid and out of breath. 
              “Wait here, I will see what’s ahead,” Vesian commanded. Before the weary squire could respond, he headed for the hovel in a low crouch. The approach to the door was overgrown with all manner of herbs and other strange plants that somehow thrived in the dim light of the woods. The door itself stood ajar, as if the witch was expecting them. 
              Vesian crept to the threshold and peered in. The main room was empty, though a cook fire burned in the hearth. The floor was worn and wooden, partly covered by a threadbare rug. From the ceiling timbers hung censers and flowerpots and a small thrush chirped as it hopped through the rafters. Vesian pushed the door open and stepped inside. 
              A steel gray tabby cat lounged on the windowsill opposite the door. Vesian looked into the back room where the witch practiced alchemy, and then into the loft, but there was no sign of her. He turned and left the house.
              “She must be out,” he called to Thibault as he made his way back through the brush. “I can see neither hide nor hair---” 
              He stopped, for standing next to Thibault was the witch, Aines. She was pale and pretty, with blue eyes and light brown hair. She wore a dress of dark red wool, slit on the left side to expose a white leg in black leather boots. Her hair was braided, tied with a thick red cord, and thrown over her shoulder where it fell to just above her narrow waist. 
              Thibault was shirtless, exposing his wounded back while Aines checked his dressing. 
              “Who dressed this for you?” she asked in disgust.
              “Vesian. And two tavern girls,” Thibault answered, fixing his eyes on Vesian as he drew close.
              “Didn’t the Order ever teach you how to dress a wound?” she asked, turning her pretty blue eyes to look on Vesian.
              “A fine hello to you, too,” Vesian replied. “Did you hear us coming?”
              “Not much use in being a witch if you can’t know when people are coming unbidden to your home. Usually, it’s peasants looking to cure an itch or replenish their supply silphium elixir, but sometimes more interesting people come by. Though they never just want to talk. You always have some ulterior motive.”
              “Such as saving my squire’s life,” Vesian said.
              “Such as saving your squire’s life indeed. Though Deiche has blessed me, I happen to have need of a knight right now. A favor for a favor?”
              “Seeing as you’re already treating Thibault, I don’t suppose I need to barter but I can’t turn away a woman in need. A favor for a favor it is.”
              “Fate is on my side today. Come in, Thibault. Vesian, tie up the horses and join us when you’re done.” Supporting Thibault on her shoulder, Aines helped the squire into the house while Vesian did as told. With the horses tied up and fed, he followed Aines into the house. 
              She had settled Thibault onto the floor before the fire. Undressing his wounds, she threw aside the old bandage and climbed into the loft for a replacement. Vesian sat next to Thibault and checked the wound. It looked worse than it had the night before.
              “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Thibault insisted. 
              “I know,” Vesian replied. “Still, we’re in the right place.”
              “What is she going to ask you to do?” Thibault whispered. “Mother told me never to make a deal with a witch.”
              “I’ve dealt with her before. It won’t be anything I can’t bear.”
              Thibault nodded, though he seemed unconvinced. Aines returned with a fresh bandage and a pouch of reagents. She knelt by Thibault as she applied the bandage. 
              “There, that will hold for now. I’ll make you a potion, so stay here.”
              “When will he be ready to travel again?” Vesian asked. “We’re on the way to Chateau Valeur.”
              “He should stay the night,” Aines said, disappearing into the backroom. From within, the sounds of bottles clinking and a mortar grinding could be heard. “It will give you time to perform your favor for me.”
              “Oh?” Vesian replied, suddenly interested. He went to the door to her alchemy laboratory and looked in. “And what favor would that be?”
              Aines turned to look at him. Her mouth crooked in a wry smile.
              “If you’re good,” she teased, “though I can smell another woman on you. Perhaps that explains why your tavern girls applied the bandage so poorly. But no, I need you to kill something for me.”
              “Oh.” Vesian was disappointed. “Has a peasant been stealing from your herb garden?”
              “A simple hex would do for that,” Aines replied, casting some ground up ingredients into a small cookpot over the alchemy table. “There is a tomb nearby where mandrake roots grow, and I’ve nearly run through my stock. I went to get more last week, but it seems that a basilisk has moved in.”
              “You want me to slay a basilisk?” Vesian asked in surprise.
              “I’ll give you a potion that will render you immune to its deathly gaze, though I can do nothing about its claws and talons. Will your mail stop them?”
              “I should hope so.” Vesian thought back to all the tales of basilisk-slayers. How many of them mentioned their armor? How many of them came home with mail that was battered or rent? He could not remember. Only the glorious details of the tales stuck out. At least some of them came home, he thought.
              “I will do it,” he announced, and Aines scoffed.
              “You’ve already agreed to it, so you don’t have much choice.” She spoke off-handedly, her attention focused on the boiling ingredients in her still. 
              “Where is this tomb?”
              “It is not far, but in the thickest part of the wood. I will take you to it once Thibault’s wound is treated. Which will be imminent.” Aines poured the contents of her still into a phial and pushed her way past Vesian into the front room. Kneeling next to Thibault, she pushed the elixir into his hands and commanded him to drink. Unsure of himself, the squire looked to Vesian for reassurance. Vesian nodded, and Thibault drank.
              “Lie before the fire and rest up now,” Aines commanded, “We will return soon enough and tomorrow you will be ready to ride again.”
              “You’re going to slay a basilisk without me?” Thibault asked, concerned.
              “Don’t worry,” Vesian reassured him, “Aines will not let me fall.” Thibault was unconvinced but said no more. Aines took her pack from its hook on the wall and looked to Vesian.
              “Let’s go,” she ordered, and with a hurried goodbye to Thibault, Vesian departed from the house. After seeing to the horses, they plunged into the forest down another shaded and twisting path. Aines pressed a hard pace, leaving Vesian behind more than once as he fought he way through the thick vines and brambles that she somehow slipped through. He drew his longsword to hack his way through the undergrowth, but Aines stopped, turned, and fixed him with a hard stare.
              “Do not disturb the wood and it will not disturb you,” she cautioned seriously. Sheepishly, Vesian sheathed his sword again, casting wary looks at the trees around him. Aines understood his reasons, however, and slowed her pace enough that he kept up. After much walking along the gloomy trail, Vesian dared to speak aloud.
              “What would you have done about this basilisk without me?”
              “I have little doubt that some other knight would have eventually stopped by. In any case, there are other sources of mandrake root, though more expensive and distant.”
              “Do a lot of knights stop by here?”
              “Some. Not all stay away for as long as you.”
              “Has it truly been so long?”
              “Four years since I last saw you. Did I chase you away so easily?”
              “It’s not that. I’ve had business elsewhere in the kingdom.”
              “So it would seem. How long since you ceased to be a squire? And in all that time, you never stopped by?”
              “I did not know that you expected me.”
              “It reveals something about you that you would stay away so long, only to reappear when your squire is near death.”
              “If I had known this awaited me, I would have let him die,” Vesian groused, only to be slapped in the face by a branch that Aines pushed aside.
              “I doubt that very much. You never could say no to someone in need of help.”
              Vesian smiled to himself as they continued in silence. The trail was long and winding, but eventually Aines indicated to slow his pace. The wood thinned out up ahead, and she dropped to a low crouch. They crept into a wide clearing, still shaded by overhanging brush. Though a patch of brambles concealed them from the center of the glade, Vesian could see through it to the opening of an old tomb. The tomb’s open entrance was set in the side of a grassy mound, stop which the mandrake root was growing. Worn gray stone framed the gloomy opening that was draped in old vines, some freshly cut away. 
              At the center of the clearing was the basilisk. It was a great gray-brown beast, nearly twelve feet from snout to tail. Its scaly hide was mottled and wrinkled while its sinuous tail was tipped with fearsome barbs. The creature lay on its stomach, head resting in the tall grass of the glade.  
              It was immediately apparent that the monster was dead. Three great wounds in its flank dripped blood into pools in the grass, which was pocked in places by what looked to have been a great duel.
              “You work fast,” Aines quipped quietly from behind the thicket. 
              “Damn,” Vesian muttered, “I was looking forward to claiming the glory for myself. Who could have done this?”
              Aines shrugged. “There are bold enough knights in the realm. This beast has not been here long so word cannot have traveled far. But wait, I hear voices from within the tomb.”
              They pressed themselves flat against the grass as they waited in silence. Vesian soon heard the voices as well. They drifted up slowly from the depths of the tomb, accompanied by torchlight. Shadows appeared in the doorway.
              Four men rose from the depths. To Vesian’s relief, they were all living. Two had the appearance of common bandits, dressed in gambesons and iron skullcaps. The third was a one-eyed dwarf in brigandine who carried a two-bladed axe over his shoulder. But the fourth was a man Vesian knew. He was tall, middle-aged, and dressed in a plain black surcoat and worn mail. His shield, hung over his back, was similarly painted black and marked by the basilisk’s claws.
              “I know him,” Vesian hissed, “he is Almaric de Condorce. He was expelled from the order for cowardice and thievery.”
              “Thievery, yes. But the cowardice I am not sure of,” Aines replied, her eyes passing over the dead monster. Vesian peered closer at the men. Almaric held in his hands an ancient helmet, no doubt taken from the tomb. While worn and dusty, it was still a splendid piece of craftsmanship and likely worth a tidy sum to an unscrupulous buyer.
              “I suppose once your brothers all think you a coward, tomb robbing is not so unthinkable,” the witch continued. Vesian scowled in response. The thieves ambled slowly into the middle of the clearing, continuing their conversation and oblivious to Vesian and Aines’ presence.
              “Let’s get moving now,” the dwarf grumbled, “I’ve had enough of this damned forest.”
              “Oh, come off it,” one of the other men laughed, “I was only joking about the spiders.” The dwarf glared at his companion before his eyes went to Almaric. 
              “I want to get this relic to the buyer so we can get paid in full. There’s a few pretty girls in Bordonne with my name on their asses.”
              “You will get paid,” Almaric promised. “Just worry about getting us there in one piece.” He pulled a cloak from his pack and draped it over his shoulders. Pulling the cowl about his face, he looked at the helmet again. “There’s no telling who we will encounter on the roads.”
              The other three exchanged looks before gathering up their things from within the tomb and extinguishing their torches. Still unaware they were being watched, the four thieves shouldered their heavy packs and leisurely strode off into the wood on a different path.
              After waiting some time to ensure they were truly gone, Vesian and Aines emerged from hiding. Aines went right away to the basilisk and began to capture its draining blood in small vials. Vesian studied the beast himself, inspecting the sword wounds in its side. A pair of quarrels protruded from its head, near the eye. He examined the beast’s underbelly, looking for a vulnerable spot should he have to battle one in the future. As Aines began to remove the beast’s eyes with a small knife, Vesian ceased his study and went to the door of the tomb.
              The door had been bound with bands of iron that had broken open by the thieves in their plundering. Beyond the door, a narrow stair wound down into the earth’s depths. Vesian peered into the gloom until Aines came to his side. Picking up a branch from the ground, she spoke a word of magic power and a small star winked into existence on the end of the branch. With a slight smile, she handed the torch to Vesian and went back to the basilisk. His torch held aloft, Vesian slowly descended the steps into the tomb. 
              The stairs wound around themselves twice until the let out into a small crypt. A stone sarcophagus lay before a modest altar, its stone lid carelessly heaved aside. Within the sarcophagus was an ancient skeleton, still clad in its old and rusting mail. An iron sword was clutched in its bony hands. Brushing away the centuries of dust, Vesian examined the inscription above the altar. The script was old and worn, but he was able to make out enough. This man had been a great warrior in life. 
              As he turned to leave, he heard a sound behind him. Dreading what he would see, he turned back to the sarcophagus, only to find the ancient skeleton had raised itself to a sitting position and was looking directly at him. The empty sockets stared into his own eyes and Vesian felt the cold eyes of death upon him. The skeleton opened its mouth, old jawbones creaking with age.
              “Mine…” it hissed, “taken from me…”
              “Yes, you were robbed,” Vesian agreed in a voice that was entirely too calm to be his own. “By a traitor knight and common bandits.”
              “Reclaim… mine own…” Vesian shuddered under the skeleton’s terrible gaze.
              “I will restore to you what is yours,” he replied.
              “Good… else I will rise… and know no rest until I reclaim it myself” the skeleton hissed as it sank back into the sarcophagus. “Return to me ere the moon turns…” it gasped and then moved no more.
              Vesian shook himself and then turned and headed up the stairs as fast as he could. He tried to calm himself before he reached the surface but he could tell as soon as he stepped out into the glade that Aines knew something had happened. She knelt atop the grassy mound, digging mandrake roots out of the dirt and stashing them in her pack.
              “Did you find anything?” she asked in a tone that indicated she already knew the answer.
              “The dead wake,” Vesian replied, still shaken despite his best efforts. “The warrior who rests here wants his stolen property back.”
              “Well, you had better get it. A revenant could cause much havoc if it wakes. I suppose you knights could slay it, but I’d rather dispense justice to thieves than go slaying revenants in search of their own.”
              “Well, it seems I have no choice. I will bring the helm back before the moon turns.”
              “You’ll return here that soon?” Aines mocked, “I have my doubts.”
              Vesian stepped close, looking up the little hill to her. He smiled flirtatiously. 
              “Aye, I’ve many things left undone here.”
              “Indeed,” Aines mused. She closed her pack and dusted off her hands. “As it so happens, I am done here. We should get back to the house before your squire sets the place on fire.”
              Vesian fell in behind her. They left what remained of the basilisk carcass to rot in the glade, Aines having no more use for it. Were he accompanied by Thibault, Vesian thought to skin the beast and sell the hide, but it was a task too much for him alone. 
              Aines led his back through the narrow and gloomy path to the hut, stopping every short while to look over her shoulder to verify that he was still behind her. He had an easier time making his way back, and they reached the house as the sun dropped low in the sky. The horses were still where Vesian had left them and after tending to them once again, he went into the house. 
              Thibault was still lying before the fire, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. Aines stood over the hearth, tending to the cookpot. 
              “All went well?” Thibault asked.
              “In a manner of speaking. The basilisk is dead, Aines has her mandrake. But you and I have a new mission.”
              He told Thibault of the rogue knight and his band of grave-robbers, along with the revenant’s demand.
              “We should leave at once,” Thibault said, beginning to rise. “We must catch him before he can sell the helm and slip away.”
              Aines put a steadying hand on his chest.
              “Calm yourself. You should rest the night and then you can begin your search in the morning. Here, have something to eat.” She pressed a bowl of stew into his hands and stared him down until he ate. The three of them ate together as the sun went down. Once finished, Thibault settled in before the fire for the night. After tending to the horses one last time, Vesian returned to prepare his own bed for the night. Aines began climbing to the loft when she saw him lay out his blanket on the floor.
              “Sleep down here if you like,” she said, pausing on the ladder, “but I promise you it is much more comfortable up here.” Without waiting for his response, she climbed the rest of the way into the loft. Smiling to himself, Vesian climbed the ladder after her. 
              In the loft, Aines had laid herself out on her furs. Reclining on one elbow, she watched Vesian climb into the loft to join her. He shed his armor and clothing as she watched with interest.
              “I remember this,” Vesian said softly as he burrowed into the furs beside her. “I remember it very well.”
              “And why is that?” she asked, sliding her dress off her shoulder to reveal a round, white breast.
              “I like the flowers you have by the window,” Vesian replied, pointing to a pot of flowering herbs that hung outside her loft window. 
              “Well, let us forget this and I’ll give you a lesson in horticulture,” she said, putting her dress back on. Vesian laughed and pulled it down again. He leaned in to kiss her and she pulled him close.
              “It’s not every day a handsome knight comes by,” she complained quietly. “I must make the most of every opportunity.”
              “And how would you like to make the most of this opportunity?” Vesian asked, caressing her exposed breast. In reply, Aines reached out to stroke his cock. Vesian offered it to her, taking the opportunity to undress her further. Her pale skin shone by the light of the fire filtering up from below. Aines pulled him closer until she could put his cock in her mouth. Moaning with pleasure, Vesian slid his fingers inside her wet sex. He stared into her sky-blue eyes as she sucked, her tongue deftly working around the head. 
              “I should have invented a reason to come back here years ago,” Vesian whispered to her. Aines only laughed, her round breasts shaking with the motion. Vesian reclaimed his cock from her clutches and she smiled, expecting more.
              He lay himself atop her and inserted his cock. She was warm and wet, her silky smooth insides embracing his hard cock as Aines wrapped her arms around him, her fingernails digging into his back. He began to thrust, slowly at first, but building speed as he went. Aines clutched him close, showering his face with kisses, and wrapped her legs around his hips. 
              “Don’t stop,” she whispered into his ear. He obeyed, wrapping himself in her arms and her furs as he fucked harder. She dug her fingernails into his hair, holding his head above her so that she could look into his eyes as he came. 
              Vesian shuddered as he finished inside her, feeling suddenly weak in his arms. Aines smiled.
              “My sweet knight,” she whispered, kissing him on the lips once more. “It’s good to see you again.”
              Vesian made no reply, only panting with the exertion. Aines rolled over on her side and Vesian embraced her from behind. Holding on to her, he let himself fall into a deep and satisfied sleep.
 
              Thibault was much improved the following morning and in no time at all, they were ready to depart. Aines emerged from her hut and put two phials into Vesian’s saddlebags.
              “If you do meet the revenant again, you’ll each want to drink this. It will ward against its rotting touch.”
              “Your generosity is appreciated,” Vesian replied, kissing her cheek. “With luck, we will see you within the month.”
              “Don’t stay away too long,” Aines replied. She returned Vesian’s kiss and then crossed to kiss Thibault on the cheek as well. “Good luck to you both and keep safe.”
              With a smile and a wave, she went back into the house and the two men set off down the narrow and twisting path. After more winding, they emerged once again on the main road.
              “What now?” Thibault asked, swinging into Rascal’s saddle. 
              “We should head south to the river and find a boat to Bordonne. We’ll reach it faster sailing downstream than riding.”
              “A boat for two men and three horses?” Thibault asked, “it will cost us.”
              “We don’t have very long before the revenant rises in search of his helm,” Vesian replied. “It will be worth the money.”
              Thibault shrugged. After all, it was not his money they would be spending. Tying Gotila’s reins to his saddle, he spurred the horse south and Vesian followed. 
              The road grew thicker with traffic as they approached the great river. Peddlers, pilgrims, and farmers alike traveled the main highways. They rounded a bend in the road before an old abbey to find a small merchant’s caravan headed the other way. A painted carriage led four wagons laden with boxes and barrels, guarded by four sergeants in brigandine and kettle-hats. The leader of the caravan was a middle-aged woman, thick around the waist and in the jowls thanks to her prosperity. She nodded respectfully at Vesian and his squire as her caravan approached, when they all turned their heads at the sound of a cry from the nearby field.
              Vesian’s hand went to his sword as he tried to discern the source of the noise. All of a sudden, there was a great woosh and a wyvern soared over the treetops, heading right for them. The guards panicked and cast aside their glaives, some standing transfixed with awe while others fled for the safety of the abbey while the wagon drovers ran for cover in a nearby orchard. The merchant woman’s horse bolted, throwing her to the ground. The wyvern swooped in on it and seized the animal in its talons. There was a great cracking sound and the horse went limp. 
              Sword in hand, Vesian fought to steady his own horse for an attack. The beast wanted none of it and threatened to throw him as it had the woman, so he deftly dismounted. Thibault did the same, but managed to free their lances from the packhorse and arm himself with one. He tossed the other lance to Vesian, who caught it as he rushed to the wyvern.
              Ignoring all of the panic around it, the wyvern had torn into the poor horse right away. Razor-sharp teeth tore through the horse’s saddle, tack, and flesh all at once and the wyvern gulped down chunks of meat with voracious desire. 
              Vesian dropped his sword to the dirt and leveled the lance in front of him. Thibault readied his own lance, slowly circling around to the other side of the wyvern. The monster stopped its feasting at their approach and fixed Vesian with a frightful stare. Its reptilian eyes gleamed with low cunning and malice. Vesian twirled the lancepoint in front of the wyvern, hoping to draw its attention with a hypnotic pattern. The creature shifted atop the dead horse and flared its wings out to the side. 
              Aware of how small and feeble he was before the monster, Vesian fought down his fear and did not give ground. Thibault was almost in position.
              “Look here!” he shouted, slashing the lancehead forward. “Ha! Here! Hey! Have at you, beast!” The wyvern’s focus was wholly locked onto him, its stinger-tipped tail coiled behind it for a strike.
              Thibault lunged forward, plunging his lancepoint into the wyvern’s side. It roared in pain and buffeted at him with its wing. The tail flashed forward, narrowly missing Thibault. As the monster’s head swung toward Thibault, Vesian struck as well. He sank the lane half a foot into the wyvern’s other flank, twisting the head as it went in. 
              The wyvern flailed about in agony, knocking Vesian down with a buffet of its great wing. He rolled in the dirt, releasing the lance, in order to avoid the strikes of the venomous stinger. Thibault clutched his lance in a deathgrip, hanging on for dear life as the wyvern thrashed about. The ashwood shaft flexed in his hands, lifting him off his feet as he rode the wounded beast. 
              Vesian scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword, and charged back into the fray. He ducked the wyvern’s wing and drove the sword’s tip into the wound opened by the lance. He fell back in a rush to avoid the wyvern’s snapping jaws, feeling the rush of hot air on his face as they snapped just short of his exposed head. On the other side, Thibault heaved his lance free and slashed at the wyvern’s wing. He opened a great rent in the thin skin and the wyvern flailed about madly at the source of its newest wound. 
              Vesian nearly lost his sword in the struggle but drew it out only to stab again at the wyvern’s scaly hide. He was battered to the earth by the thrashing tail, but by the grace of the gods avoided the stinger once again. 
              “It’s dying, back away and let it bleed!” he shouted to Thibault, who did the wise thing and obeyed. The wyvern staggered forward, maddened by pain, but lost its footing on the horse’s corpse and crashed to the ground. Its wing fell over Vesian’s prone form and he scrambled free, clutching his sword tightly. The monster moaned in its death throes as Vesian stood over its head. Looking into the creature’s eyes, he drove his swordpoint deep into its skull, ending its struggle.
              He stepped back and looked to Thibault. His squire was bruised and battered, but still mostly unhurt.
              “It got me with the wings, but never the poison,” Thibault gasped breathlessly.
              “Fortunate thing, that is. Aines forgot to give me any wyvern venom antidotes before we left, and I don’t think we would make it back in time.”
              “You made it through alright?” Thibault gasped.
              “I did, though it’s more than I can say for the poor horse here.” He nudged the corpse with his foot. Unlike the corpse he had encountered the day before, it stayed dead. Turning at a sound behind him, he saw the merchant woman approaching. She was dusty and disheveled but appeared to be unscathed by the order.
              “It’s dead?” she asked in wonder, “thank the gods!”
              “Aye, madam. It’s dead and gone, though I fear your horse is as well.”
              “Shame about that,” she replied, her eyes walking over the grisly remains. “It was a loyal creature, coming all the way out here from Sacreville. More loyal than my guards,” she cast a scornful look towards the abbey where they had fled. “But thank you for your valor, sir. Might I have your name?”
              “Vesian de Surrac, madam. This is my squire, Thibault. We are errants of the Order of the Griffon.”
              “Yes, I know your order’s arms, though I only make your acquaintance now. You have my gratitude and once I am safely home, I will make a generous donation to your order.”          
              “I am pleased to hear it, madam. Though our services to the king provide for us well enough, all aid is welcome.”
              “It will be done. But if you will excuse me, sir, I must see to what has become of my guardsmen.” She stomped off in the direction of the abbey.
              “Those poor fellows will surely lose a day or two of pay for this,” Thibault remarked.
              “Likely undeserved, for what guardsman joins up to fight wyverns? In any case, let us take a trophy from this beast so we might tell the story at Chateau Valeur later.”
              Thibault steadied the dead thing long enough for Vesian to hack off its horn for proof. It was hard work and by the time they were finished the merchant woman had returned with her sufficiently chastised guardsmen. She angrily took her seat at the front of a wagon next to the drover who had crept slowly back from the orchard with his fellows. Clapping her hands impatiently, the woman spurred the caravan back into motion. Vesian gave her a friendly wave as they passed by, which she returned with an exasperated smile, though her guards avoided his gaze. 
              “Well, that was a bit of excitement for today,” Vesian remarked as the caravan disappeared around the bend. 
              “The men at Valeur will hear of this before we even return,” Thibault added, mounting his horse again.
              “I hope to be able to add the story of the revenant as well. Come on then, lots of ground to cover still.”
 
              They reached the town of Gens along the riverbanks late in the afternoon. It was near dark when Vesian secured them passage on a riverboat. The journey downstream was quick and uneventful, and four days later they arrived on the quay in Bordonne.
              The largest city in the realm, Bordonne lay along the river’s north bank some thirty miles upstream from its marshy mouth. Near to the city, the river was thick with boats and barges carrying grain, clay, ores, and hides. Seagoing ships ventured no further upriver than Bordonne, but their cavernous hulls and strangely attired crews were in evidence all along the harborfront. 
              Their riverboat moored on the far upriver end of the quay and the captain allowed them to disembark before he set his crew to unloading his cargo of timber, wine, honey, and tin. 
              “How do you plan to find these bandits?” Thibault asked once they had disembarked onto the quay with their horses.
              “The local constable should be able to point us in the direction of the people who would be buying stolen relics. Then all we have to do is wait for Almaric to arrive.”
              “Hm,” Thibault replied, unconvinced, “You’ve never been the waiting type.”
              “The city has plenty of diversions while we wait.” Vesian gestured over his shoulder to the Palace behind him. “But first, we should pay a visit to Odo.”
              Leading their horses by the reins, they made their way down the pier and through the city’s narrow streets to the constable’s office by the West Gate. The squat stone building overlooked a small square in front of the Temple of Caerran. Merchants filled the square with carts, wagons, and colorful stalls. 
              Two guards sat lazily outside the front door, their halberds leaning against the wall. They looked up Vesian’s approach, but waved him by upon seeing his surcoat. A groom emerged to take their horses and Vesian and Thibault ascended the short staircase into the constable’s office. The office inside was well-appointed despite the austere exterior of the building. A thick fur rug lay across the floor before a wide desk of polished oak. Two walls were lined with cubbyholes filled with scrolls while a glass-fronted lantern hanging from the ceiling provided light without the hazard of setting the room ablaze. Beside the desk was a leather chair, currently occupied by Odo, the city’s constable.
              Odo was a man nearing the end of middle-age, with salt and pepper hair and a graying beard that grew more unkempt every time Vesian met him. He wore the king’s colors on his surcoat but the city’s crest of a willow tree on his sleeves. His left eye was milky white, ruined by the same blow that had left the side of his face scarred. 
              He looked up from a scroll as Vesian entered. 
              “Sir Vesian,” he growled, “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you. What brings you to my door?”
              “The work of a knight-errant, I’m afraid. I seek a band of tomb-robbers. There are four of them, perhaps more. They are led by a man expelled from the order, Almaric de Condorce.”
              “Almaric,” Odo said in recognition. He rose from his seat and went to the shelves of scrolls. He scanned along them for a moment before drawing one out. He unfurled it and handed it to Vesian.
              “If you’re looking for him, you might as well claim the bounty while you’re at it.” Vesian nodded in appreciation and handed the scroll to Thibault, who whistled in surprise.
              “That’s a lot of money. What’s he done to deserve such interest from the seneschal?”
              “He has killed one of the prince’s friends is what he’s done. I don’t know the circumstances, but a bounty is a bounty.”
              “Well, when last I saw him, he had stolen something from an ancient warrior’s tomb and planned to sell it here. Who in the city would buy something like that?”
              Odo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. “There are dealers in arcane items by the docks, but as for who would touch something stolen, your first candidate should be Savarics. I’ve had a dozen reports of him dealing in contraband, but nothing strong enough to bring him in. Yet. He operates out of an old warehouse near the harbor. Look for the Queen’s Fountain and head west from there. You should see it just past the Baking House.”
              “Well, I hope that we might be of service to you. We will begin our search there at once. Can we leave our horses with you?”
              Odo shrugged. “I suppose I can take care of them for a while. I’ll let my men by the docks know to look out for you. If you need help, many members of the Watch frequent the Three Princes Tavern just north of Queen’s Fountain. They’ll muster right away if one of my men calls them.”
              “We’ll keep an eye out for them.”
              Vesian and Thibault disguised themselves in some common cloaks borrowed from the guard and made their way casually toward Savarics’ house. The front of the house was on a wide thoroughfare, but Vesian and Thibault circled around to the rear, where the street was narrow and shielded from the sun by beams crossing above. The street was empty except for themselves and a single beggar dozing in his squat. The building was old and worn, with blotches of grime on the brick exterior. Vesian moved slowly along the building, trying to peer through the boarded windows. Inside, the rooms were lined with dusty shelves crowded with all manner of odds and ends.
              He stopped at the sound of voices. Ushering Thibault closer, they peered through the cracks in a window. Within, four men were wrestled with a woman. She wore a plain peasant’s dress and cloak, but she was shackled, blindfolded, and gagged. Three of the men were broad-shouldered toughs with the look of dockhands, while the fourth was a tall, lithe man with wiry red hair. The four of them dragged the woman, kicking and screaming, into a closet, and shut and barred the door.
              Behind him, Vesian heard Thibault draw a blade. 
              “We need to find a door,” Vesian whispered back. They crept along the wall at a low crouch until they reached a door in the wall. It was of stout construction, Vesian could tell just by a cursory examination. 
              “We might be able to reach the second floor by climbing,” Thibault suggested, but Vesian had other ideas. Together, they set themselves before the door and threw their shoulders against it. The door shuddered and buckled but did not come all the way off. Within, they heard alarmed shouts. They charged the door again.
              This time, the door flew off its hinges and crashed into the hallway. Swords drawn, Vesian and Thibault shed their cloaks and advanced into the building. Across a wide room lined with crowded shelves, Vesian caught sight of two of the toughs. One broke off and hurried deeper into the building while the other hefted an ironbound cudgel. 
              Vesian stood up straight, displaying the Order of the Griffon crest on his surcoat, and the thug took a concerned step backwards. Just as he might have been reconsidering, his companion reappeared from the side.
              “Look out!” cried Thibault as the thug came rushing on with a hatchet raised. Thibault sidestepped the man’s brutish attack and stabbed at his thigh as he went by. The man staggered into range of Vesian, who delivered a calculated thrust to his chest. Blood began to well under the man’s shirt, and Vesian plunged the swordpoint through the back of his neck. The man crumpled to the floor. 
              “Why does the Order of the Griffon break into my house?” the redhaired man demanded as he appeared behind the cudgel-wielding thug. He carried a short thrusting sword in one hand and a parrying dagger in the other. Somehow, he had found the time to slip on a mail shirt.
              “Are you Savarics?” Vesian demanded. He heard the slightest creak in the room behind him. the man’s thugs were dim in appearance, but had cleverly surrounded them. He subtly pointed at the source of the noise for Thibault’s benefit and the squire nodded.
              “You break into my home and make demands of me? Are you a knight or a common brigand?”
              “You speak to me of brigands? Who is that woman you abducted?”
              “She is a witch,” the man replied. “I intend to claim the bounty on her.”
              “And why have you thrown her into a closet instead of at the constable’s feet?”
              “The constable and I are not on good terms,” the man said, “I require time to smooth things over before I claim my bounty.”
              “I am in good standing with the constable,” Vesian offered. “I could act as your broker.”
              “For a fee, no doubt. No, I will do this myself.”
              “I will charge no fee. I only wish to see this criminal handed over to the appropriate authorities. Come, let us go now and turn in this witch for the bounty. It is surely quite substantial.”
              The man’s eyes narrowed. “You break into my home to offer me your services?”
              “I came in pursuit of justice, and a man called Savarics. Have I found either here?”
              “I tire of your questions, knight. Time to die!” his hidden man came rushing from behind them as the redhaired man and his other surviving thug attack Vesian from ahead. They rushed across the open room with weapons at the ready and hate in their eyes.
              Vesian left the man attacking from behind to Thibault as he advanced to meet the redhaired man and his companion with the cudgel. The cudgel man came on cautiously, while his redhaired companion charged ahead. Vesian parried a stroke of the thrusting sword and darted around to the man’s side, putting the redhaired man in between Vesian and the big fellow. The redhaired man struck again, attacking with no concern for his companion’s own angle of attack at Vesian. The redhaired man had had some training, and clearly some natural talent with the blade, but in his hateful frenzy he was easy to predict. He flailed about madly and Vesian parried each strike in a whirl of steel.
              The cudgel man stood behind him, unsure of what to do as he looked from Vesian to Thibault and the men they battled. The redhaired man had his thrust turned aside again and stabbed his parrying dagger at Vesian. The blade struck home but became entangled in the thick surcoat instead of pulling free. As the man fought to free his weapon, Vesian brought his own blade down on the outstretched arm.
              There was a cry of pain and he fell back. The dagger fell from his hand, but Vesian came on. The man tried a desperate thrust with his sword, but Vesian easily evaded it and drove his own swordpoint through the man’s neck. The cudgel wielding man threw aside his weapon and ran for the door in a blind panic. His companion who tangled with Thibault could only stare shocked at his abandonment until Thibault slashed his throat open with his sword. 
              Surveying the damage, Vesian sighed. 
              “I had hoped to get some answers out of this man,” he nudged the redhaired man’s corpse with his foot. “We still don’t even know if this was Savarics.”
              Thibault looked around the room at all of the oddities on the shelves. “This would look to be the place.”
              “Perhaps their prisoner can tell us more,” Vesian said. He went to the closet door and pulled it open. Inside, the woman had slumped to the floor in despair. Vesian knelt by her and removed her gag and blindfold. She blinked her almond eyes in the dim light. They were green and inquisitive, while her dark brown hair was tied up in a bun behind her head. She was pale and pretty, with red lips and thin, arched eyebrows. She fixed her stare on Vesian as her mouth worked with unspoken questions.
              “A knight-errant?” she said in surprise, “what are you doing here?”
              “I have come on a different errand, but it is fortunate that I did. Who are you?”
              “My name is Ava,” she said after a hesitant pause. “Those men took me off the street, but I know not why.”
              Vesian held her hands up by the bronze shackles. “You are a witch,” he said matter-of-factly.
              “I am not a criminal!” she insisted, stomping her foot on the floor. “Nothing I do is against the king’s law!”
              “Calm down,” Vesian reassured. “I did not accuse. But I suspect you know why they took you.”
              Ava bit her lip and looked down. “My sisters told him. I am a fugitive,” she continued quietly. “I fled my coven when they asked me to do too much. I tried to hire a ship to take me away, but Savarics and his men caught me first. They were going to hold me until my sisters arrived and collect their reward.”
              “Why did you flee your coven?” Vesian asked. 
              “They traffic with demons, sir. For all my life, they have offered sacrifices to dark powers in exchange for knowledge and power. My mother said it was time to initiate me into the practice. She and her sisters captured a woodsman from the village. They meant to make me bed him, then cut out his heart and offer it to Azeron, a demon of the hot depths. But I wanted no part of it, so I fled in the night. I took some of my mother’s silver to hire a ship, but these men found me first.”
              “Do you know these men?”
              “Only by reputation. My coven deals with them when they come into the city. The leader is Savarics, a man who deals in arcane relics and the indigo spice.”
              Vesian nodded in relief. While he still wished Savarics lived for interrogation, he could rest easy knowing he had not killed an innocent man. Thibault reached over his shoulder, holding out a brass key. Taking it from him, Vesian undid Ava’s shackles. 
              “Thank you, sir,” the witch said as she stood up and brushed herself off. She straightened her hair before continuing. “May I go, sirs? I wish to catch a ship before any more of my mother’s associates find me.”
              “Hold a minute if you will. I want you to tell your story to the constable first. Then we will help you find a ship. But tell me, do you know of a man named Almaric? He is the reason why I came here.”
              “No, but he mentioned he was expecting a visitor in the next day or two. Perhaps that is your man?”
              “It would fit well enough. I hope we are on the right track. Come, let us get you to the constable.”
              They left the bodies where they fell and returned to the constable’s office, only to find that Odo had gone out to see to a brawl in the Cloth District. His clerk bid them wait until he returned. After some time, the constable returned with three prisoners in tow and after some discussion with his men came to Vesian, who told him what had transpired.
              “Hm,” Odo mused. “I should have liked to get my hands on Savarics before you killed him, but I suppose I will have to settle for this. I’ll send a work crew to bring the dead to Nuaraine’s Temple.”
              “We think Almaric will arrive at Savarics’ house in a day or two,” Vesian said. “He will learn Savarics is dead very quickly, so we must strike as soon as we see him. Would you be willing to give us some of your men?”
              “To sit and wait all day?” Odo scoffed. “There’s work to be done, sir.”
              “I can pay them for their time. Almaric is an excellent swordsman despite his disgrace and Thibault and I cannot handle his company alone.”
              “If it’s men you need, there are always sellswords looking for work in the taverns.”
              “I need some of your men to lend the endeavor legitimacy. Do you want knights and their sellswords running amok in the city?”
              Odo sighed and rubbed the skin around his bad eye. “I suppose not. I will pay them myself, if you reimburse me with the proceeds from your bounty.”
              “Fair, but I need some archers on the rooftops.”
              They spent some time haggling the details, but in the end, Vesian secured the aid of a band of the constable’s men to sit and wait with him. By the time things with the Odo were settled, the hour had grown late.
              “No ships will sail tonight,” Vesian said to Ava as they went back out onto the street. “We will get a room at an inn, and you are welcome to stay with us for the night. I can assure you, none of your coven’s minions will trouble you in our company.”
              Ava looked around her and pulled her cloak tighter. “I would appreciate your generosity. You are too kind, sir.”
              Thibault retrieved their horses from Odo’s stable and together they headed down the street to an inn called the Cat’s Garden. The innkeeper gruffly told them he had only one room available, so they stabled their horses and crowded themselves into the little room after a meal of boiled oats and vegetables. 
               Their room had a single bed, so Vesian offered it to Ava while he and Thibault slept on the floor.
              “You have been generous enough to me,” Ava replied, “I think perhaps we can share.” Her hands went to her chest, and she began to unlace her bodice.
              Vesian felt himself stiffen with interest. Ava pursed her ruby red lips at him.
              “I can think of no better way for a woman to thank her saviors. Will you allow me?” She opened her dress to expose a pair of small, white breasts adorned with pale pink nipples and pulled it down until she was fully exposed before them. Vesian’s eyes wandered down her form, from her white shoulders to her slender hips and the shaven sex between her legs. Ava sat down on the bed and kicked off her boots to sit naked. Beside him, Thibault was undoing his belt.
              Needing no more encouragement than that, Vesian pulled off his surcoat and threw his hauberk to the floor. Thibault was naked before him and sat next to Ava, caressing her bare breasts in his hands. She leaned in to kiss his neck and took his cock in her hands. She leaned over to set her red lips around his cock. Thibault slid his hand down her body to grab a handful of her small ass, and Ava lay herself down with her head in his lap. Vesian at last finished stripping himself, one foot caught in his breeches, and approached the bed with his cock in his hands. While Ava’s head was occupied with Thibault, he positioned himself at her hips. 
              He ran a hand along the curve of her body and used it to spread her legs. Her pink sex beckoned to him. Taking his hard cock in one hand, he spread the lips of her sex and slid his cock inside. The warmth of her body made him concerned he would come too soon. As she kissed and sucked Thibault’s cock, Vesian slowly thrust in and out of her sex, delighting in her soft moans of pleasure.
              Thibault shifted himself back to lie lengthwise on the bed, and Ava followed him. She crouched over him on all fours, raising up her hips so that Vesian could fuck her. He found it hard to gain solid footing on the cheap bed, but soon enough was holding her hips in his hands as he fucked her hard. Thibault sat up and positioned Ava between the two of them, impaled by cocks from either end like a pig on a roasting spit. Her lithe body trembled under each slap of Vesian’s hips against hers, but only satisfied moans escaped her lips. 
              She stroked Thibault’s cock in her hands and ran her tongue along the shaft as Vesian made her shake. Thibault, for his part, paid little mind to Vesian, enraptured as he was by Ava’s beautiful eyes that looked up at him. Vesian came soon enough, spurting his seed inside Ava even as she continued to suck his squire’s cock. 
              Vesian withdrew himself from the young witch and lay down on the bed. With one man satisfied, Ava turned over and Thibault lay atop her. They kissed and moaned together on the bed until Thibault came as well. Ava lay naked in between the two of them until they all fell fast asleep.
 
              In the morning, they went down to the city’s docks and found a captain of a pot-bellied cog who was bound for Torvuls in the Devouring Sea. After some haggling, he agreed to take Ava aboard as a passenger. Standing at the foot of the gangplank, the fugitive witch said her goodbyes.
              “Thank you, Sir Vesian, and Thibault as well. I shudder to think of the fate that awaited me if my sisters captured me.”
              “Think nothing of it,” Vesian assured him. “Apeira smiled on you and saw to it that your captors would be vanquished. You are surely in her good favor.”
              “I will make an offering to her before we set sail, in addition to the usual offering to Caerran. But I will also pray for your safety and good health. This Almaric sounds like a dangerous fellow.”
              “We have the constable’s men on our side. There is nothing to worry about.” Ava seemed unconvinced but smiled all the same.
              “Thank you again and goodbye.” She kissed him on the cheek before turning to walk up the plank. Stopping at the gunwale, she waved goodbye one last time. Vesian waved back before setting off in the direction of the late Savarics’ house. They found Odo waiting in the house along with three of his men.
              “I have three archers on the opposite roof,” the constable said, “and a boy to signal them if need be.”
              “I hope to lure him inside, where we might block his escape. If we have to fight him on the street, he might flee with the helm before we can apprehend him.”
              “I’ll leave the door open, but I have no one who can imitate Savarics,” Odo complained.
              “It will have to do,” Vesian said with a shrug. He and Thibault positioned themselves near the window to keep a watch while the others prepared ambush positions of their own inside the house. Once set, they settled in for the long wait. 
              
              At last, in the mid-afternoon, Vesian spied a familiar face on the street. It was Almaric’s dwarf companion, lazily making his way down the street while chewing on a honey treat sold by street vendors. Vesian signaled to Thibault, who readied his sword. Across the street, he could see Odo’s archers at last stirring on the rooftops. 
              Ten paces behind the dwarf, Almaric himself emerged from the crowd, accompanied by the two men from the crypt and a third man carrying a crossbow on his back. Though alert, none of the men seemed suspicious about the house. Almaric reached the front door and stopped.
              “My man can be a bit skittish,” he told his dwarf, “so you lot stay outside while I deal with him.”
              “How do we know you won’t take the money and run?” the newcomer growled. “You being a disgraced knight and all, I’m not so inclined to take your word for things.”
              “Just shut up and sit here,” Almaric groaned. He turned and pushed open the door to Savarics’ house. Vesian crept into position. 
              “Savarics,” he called as he stepped into the front hall, “I have returned. The crypt was right where you said it was, but the men I’ve hired are eager to get paid, so let us be quick about this. Savarics?”
              He drew closer and it was all Vesian could do not to spring his trap early. Almaric’s footsteps on the bare wooden floor of the hall grew louder. “Savarics?” he called again, and the footsteps stopped. Vesian cursed silently. “Where are you?”
              The footsteps sounded again, softly and more distant. He was leaving. Vesian burst from his place against the wall, his sword flashing out as he darted into the hall.
              “Almaric de Condorce! I am Sir Vesian de Surrac and I represent the king’s justice! Halt where you stand.”
              Odo followed him into the hall, though with less youthful vigor. “I am Odo, constable charged by this city with keeping order and the king’s laws. I am placing you under arrest.”
              Almaric spat on the floor. “That is what I think of your justice. Come on then,” his sword flashed into his hands, “You want justice, come and get it.”
              Odo paused to marshal his men, but Vesian had no patience for that. He rushed at Almaric, blade held high. They came together in a clash of steel, blades ringing against each other as they cut, thrust and parried in the confines of the hall. Almaric was the quicker, but Vesian the stronger. He drove the rogue knight back with his greater strength, using the narrow walls to negate Almaric’s speed. Odo and the others were blocked in behind him, unable to get past Vesian to strike at Almaric. Outside, the archers shot shafts down from the rooftops into Almaric’s men who refused to surrender. 
              Almaric was pressed back against the wall until he cut under one of Vesian’s blows. For a moment he looked about to cut behind him and away from the wall, until he realized that would only leave him between Vesian and the constable’s men. Instead, he ducked under Vesian and slashed at his exposed flank. His blade cut a line in the thick surcoat, but the mail underneath easily defeated the sword’s long edge. He then threw his weight against Vesian, bowling his from his feet and sending them both to the floor.
              As Odo moved to take advantage, Almaric drew a rondel dagger and aimed it at Vesian’s throat. Vesian got his hand up in time, and the rondel’s point caught it instead of his throat. The narrow tip pierced the mail links and bit deep into his palm, but turned and snared there. Before Almaric could withdraw it, Odo drove his sword into the rogue knight’s neck. He slumped forward and fell to the floor. As he did, his pack open and out rolled the revenant’s lost helmet. 
              Even as the blood dripped from his hand, Vesian snatched up the helm to look at it. Thibault appeared over him.
              “Are you hurt badly?” he asked, sheathing his sword as the sounds of battle outside ceased.
              “No. But this time we’ll find a good healer to treat my wound.” Thibault laughed. 
              “A shame we put one on a ship already.”
              “Who knows, maybe she still hasn’t left port.”
              “Well done, Sir Vesian,” Odo congratulated as he hauled Almaric’s corpse off to the side. “I’ll see to it that you receive your bounty from my coffers. Once I’ve deducted my expenses, of course.”
              “I am always happy to be of service, old friend,” Vesian replied, removing his mail to examine his wound. Thibault drew some medical supplies from his pack and set to treating it. Around them, the constable’s men began to disperse, their job done. Vesian checked his wound when Thibault had finished and nodded. He would find a healer on the way.
              “It will do for now. We had better retrieve our horses and start back west. There is not much time before the moon turns and the revenant comes looking for his helm.”
              “And you did promise to see Aines again,” Thibault added. “We could stop by the Crooked Bough as well.”
              “I should like to see about Ava’s sisters as well. Come on, there’s so much to do and so little time to do it.”
 