Apier’s new guests had become something of a fixture over the past few weeks. The catering businesses of the small harbor town were initially ecstatic of their new customers. Their jubilation was tempered when their guests stayed longer than the first week. However, initial fears of what restless Northmen would do were soon forgotten. Their visitors were an unexpectedly subdued company. They drank hard and made merry but as a whole they were relatively civil. Perhaps it was because the majority were old timers. Gnarled features and grey beards made up most of the Rusalka’s crew. There were a few fresh faces about, but even they seemed to tread carefully.

Martin found himself attracted to this strange company of veterans. When it became apparent that the Briar Thorn would not be visiting to his father’s abode, he became for the lack of a better word, free. Free to do nothing. Free to go back to his lackadaisical existence. As if nothing had happened. Except something had happened. And was happening even now. Dispatch riders rode into town from all directions. It was clear now that Sir Edwin was doing more than just taking on supplies. He was waiting for something. Martin’s father had taken the hint and took the out that the Knight offered. He would not inquire into his business and Sir Edwin would not bring any trouble to his doorstep.

To outsiders Sir Edwin’s was paradoxically the image of administrative industry and aristocratic languor. By day, his room had become an office of maps and ledgers. At night he was said to take his leisure indulging all manners of hedonistic excesses. Where he acquired the blood of untouched virgins was a detail the good people of Apier had not considered. It was far more exciting to imagine what kind of debauchery was happening rather than how it was happening. The Briar Thorn himself too would be quite uncertain on how or why he would acquire the afore mentioned blood. In truth his evenings were spent in very much the same way his days were, drafting letters.

On the cusp of sunset, Sir Edwin lay down his quill to watch the dying light. The lounge had been rearranged so that the desk that he worked on would always be in shadow. The pupils of his eyes contracted to limit the visual glare. Marcus sat at another table busily arranging maps and documents. As he stolidly attacked the piles of paper ahead of him, he paused for a moment. The ever-present scratching of the quill had grown silent. He looked up from the myriad reports and correspondences to find his friend fixedly watching the sunset.

“Dear me, I’ve forgotten the time. Let me get the window.”

Uncinching the spectacles from his nose, Marcus hurriedly rose to close the curtains.

“No. Leave them open. The rays won’t hit me where I am.”

Marcus paused then went to stand by the window instead. He stood in the light and took in the cool evening air. Peering outside the window he could see the men leaving the inn for a night out. He paused to consider the crew of the Rusalka. They were veterans of the disbanded vanguard regiment. Most of these men had fought in the last war of independence. Some had served from the regiments founding. None were from the time of the Autumn Rebellion. He was the last of that company. Some had died, others moved on, only he remained. Watching the trickling men, he saw two familiar faces lingering around the inn.

“I believe me may have a familiar pair of guests outside.”

“We do? I don’t remember anybody on our schedule. Is it Roland? He should be a week or so away.”

“No but, how is he? I’ve seen his letter on your table.”

“Take a look for yourself.”

Sir Edwin shuffled through a stack of paper to toss an envelope to Marcus. The letter was once sealed by a white wax crest. A knife had been used to lift the wax thus preserving the heraldry of a star. Marcus quickly skimmed through the lines. A pensive look took his face as he gently returned the message into its envelope.

“Once again I am presented with evidence that you are a truly a singular individual.”

“Oh?”

“If anybody but you were to have received this letter, it would have immediately been taken for a forgery. The White Knight, the paladin of our modern age, Ser Roland De Charney would utter let alone scribe such foul language?”

“Yes, it would cause quite the stir.”

“Personally, I don’t believe that I have ever known him to be so…”

“Excitable?”

“That’s one way of putting it. I would have gone for irate but that is beside the point. You do really get under his skin, don’t you?”

“What can I say? I am a man of divisive opinions.”

“Quite the man indeed. From what I managed to parse from his general vitriol, he does not approve of our arrival.”

“He was not the only one who held such sentiments.”

“I still do.”

“The King- “

“When did you ever give a damn about the King? When did he ever- “

“Enough Marcus. I have given my oath.”

Neither men said anything for a while. They watched the waters grow golden over the bay horizon.

“Do you know I actually miss that prig.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will have a change of heart when he arrives. You only miss baiting him for sport.”

Marcus shook his head at the memory of his friend and the White Knight. He had to admit that he too felt not a little joy in the needling of Sir Roland. However, he was at the end of the day a good man. That always left him feeling a little guilty for his pettiness towards him. Still, the White Knight was immeasurably more tolerable than his counterpart, Sir Bram Silverlight.

Marcus abruptly started and then frowned as he watched the last rays of the sun sink into the sea. He had been far too absorbed with his work. He should have noticed quickly how the time had passed. Frowning, he took one last look out the window and set about to tackle the most important task of the day.

“Well I must fly old boy, there is important work to be done. If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you would invite both those scamps lurking outside for dinner.”

Frowning, Sir Edwin approached the window to see their new guests. He gave an amused sigh and made his way to the courtyard. Marcus had established himself as the iron grip tyrant of the kitchen. He would be seeing to the preparation of all his meals. When it came to the culinary arts the man was an absolute terror. For a moment Sir Edwin felt a twang of pity for the inn cooks. His friend had the most extravagant and outlandish tastes. However, one thing that could not be refuted. At his height, Marcus had set one of the finest tables in all of Auburn. His parties were once the talk of high society. For all the pain he inflicted, there was no better master to lean under.

Nicholas had spent his free hours watching the inn. Once his work had ended, he would make a beeline to see the warriors. In the past he would have spent the afternoon swimming in the harbor or gathered shellfish by beachside rockpools. His guardian had no more business with the Knight, and that disappointed him greatly. At first, he had listened out of a morbid fascination. Sir Edwin’s story was nothing like romances. Then again it was the Briar Thorns tale, heroics were not something associated with his character. What he found compelling about his tale was how mundane it was. Moments of action were punctuated by dreariness and life. When the Briar Thorn spoke of the joys of new boots or a hot meal, it breathed a reality the romances lacked. His was not the tale of great events and mighty heroes. It was history.

Vicariously living the adventures of heroes through stories were one thing. To have soldiers swaggering arms and to hear their banter in the air was another. Nicholas had never quite managed to work up the courage to approach any of them himself. Like most children he kept a safe distance to watch the men practice at arms.

One thing that he had not expected was to find the Lord Mayor’s son lurking around as well. His attitude towards Martin had thawed recently. They were not friends, but familiarity had eased preconceived contempt. Yes, he was a bumbling silver spooner, but he was alright. Nicholas had seen him watch the warrior’s practice to then copy their movements in private. It was funny at first. He seemed stiff and awkward in his execution. The drills that the soldiers went through seemed easy enough. Nicholas took up a twig and attempted to copy a relatively simple drill, twirling a figure of eight. He could do the movement easily enough. His speed and fluidity were an entirely different matter. He felt silly twirling the stick. Once his arms had become tired, he gave up.

Watching Martin go through his motions, day in and day out gave Nicholas a grudging respect for the older boy. By sundown they were the only two standing outside the inn. Perhaps it was because there was nobody else, they found themselves standing besides each other. Nicholas turned to the other boy.

“Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

Looking anywhere else but each other, the silence continued. A looming shadow soon caused both to face what was in front of them.

“Gentlemen, may I invite you both to dinner?”