Knight from the Ashes by Shari L. Tapscott
Henrik
My father gruntsin lieu of a greeting as I walk into his smithy after an absence of nearly a week, and then he commands, “Make eight horseshoes. After that, work on nails.”
Even with the windows thrown open, it’s sweltering in here.
Bracing myself for his agitation, I say, “I have an audience with the king soon.”
He sneers, as expected, but he doesn’t say anything—which is unexpected.
I watch him as he limps to the forge and pulls a stick of red-hot iron from the fire. He lies it across the anvil, but I produce a cream-colored piece of parchment before he can begin to shape it and say, “Brielle sent a letter.”
Father eyes it with the same distaste he’d show his daughter if she were here. “Put it on the table. I’ll look at it later.”
My sister sent a letter to me as well, but Father doesn’t need to read that one.
I’ve worked hard all these years for Brielle, both here in the smithy and for the king. A soldier’s salary isn’t enough to pay her school tuition alone, and she’s better off away at Dulnmarin’s than here with Father.
She’s the real reason I must obtain my seal. If I can earn my knighthood, I’ll be able to afford a respectable dowry for her and ensure she makes a good match with a kind man who will care for her. Heaven knows Father won’t see to her future.
And if I marry the princess, Brielle will be secured a position in the nobility for life.
“Did you kill the beast of Danmire?” Father asks between clanging smacks of his hammer.
“I did.”
He glances up to glare at me. “Earned your seal then?”
My spine stiffens. “Not yet.”
Father scoffs. “He’s not going to give it to you. Your aspirations are too big, boy. You could have been a regular knight ten times over, but no. You want the prestige of being one of the elite.”
“You were working your way to becoming a sealed knight,” I remind him.
He yanks aside his leather apron and stomps his wooden leg to the ground with a sneer. “And this is what I have to show for it. You want this, Henrik?”
“I can’t afford to become a regular knight,” I remind him, tired of the familiar argument.
Only those who earn their seal are granted land and gold. I’d never be able to afford my armor on a commander’s salary, especially when I send most of my earnings to Brielle’s school. You must be born into the nobility for that, like Clover’s brothers.
I frown when I think of the woman, fervently wishing she hadn’t drifted into my head. I’ve already seen her twice today—surely that’s punishment enough.
“Who needs knighthood anyway?” Father mutters, going back to his task. “Mercenaries make more money.”
“There’s no honor in selling your blade.”
“Honor.” Father shakes his head as if disgusted, and then he falls silent.
“I’ll work on the horseshoes tonight,” I promise before I leave. “And the nails, too, if I have time.”
Father doesn’t answer, and he certainly doesn’t say goodbye when I leave. No “Glad you’re back, son” or “I missed you while you were away.”
Not that I expected it. This is how it’s always been.
* * *
“Hello, Henrik,”Bartholomew says cordially, matching my steps as I walk down the hall. “Where are you off to at such a brisk pace?”
I barely spare the boy a glance. “I have a meeting with your uncle.”
“What a happy coincidence. I’m headed there as well.”
I jerk my head in acknowledgment, not in the mood for his chipper conversation.
“Did you see I spoke with Lady Clover earlier?” the young duke says with a grin, not picking up on my subtle signals that I prefer to walk in silence. “In the throne room—I held the door for her.”
I grunt.
“Clover’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He lets out a heartsick sigh. “Before, I didn’t think she even knew my name, but today, she said, ‘Thank you, Bartholomew.’ What do you think it means?”
“I think she was thanking you for holding the door.”
“Oh, but the way she said it...” He trails off as if reliving the blessed moment once again.
Meanwhile, my brow furrows as I’m reminded of the conversation I was unfortunate enough to overhear earlier. Though I know little of Clover, it’s obvious she’s thought a great deal about me. And she’s formed opinions.
“Like locking lips with a fish,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?” Bartholomew says, startled from his daydreams.
“Nothing,” I answer sharply.
We reach the king’s study, and one of the guards nods. “His Majesty is expecting you both. You may go in.”
Bartholomew scurries inside, and I follow him with slightly less exuberance.
“Hello, Uncle!” Bartholomew sets a basket on top of a desk in the massive library that the king calls his study. “Mother has made tartlets for you—raspberry, I believe.”
A smile flickers over the king’s face. “Thank you, Bartholomew.”
“She said they are a bribe, but she wouldn’t tell me what for.”
Looking slightly vexed, King Algernon sighs. “You may tell her that her message has been received.”
“Ah, good. Mother said you’d understand, and I’m glad for it—she wouldn’t breathe a word of it to me when I asked her to elaborate for the sake of clarity.” He grins. “It must be something terribly secret.”
“Yes,” His Majesty says somewhat curtly. “That’s fine—sit down, Bartholomew.”
Immediately, the boy obeys. King Algernon studies him for a moment, frowning, and then he turns his attention to me. “Henrik.”
I stand straighter. “Yes, sire?”
“Bartholomew will no longer be apprenticing Lawrence. From here on out, he will be assigned as your squire.”
I study the king, confused. “But, Your Majesty…I am not a knight.”
Wryly, he answers, “Yes, I am aware of that.”
If Algernon were anyone but the king, I would question him further. After all, a squire can only apprentice a knight—that’s how it works. Those are the rules.
Why in the kingdom would he assign his nephew—the royal military’s future duke marshal—to me, a lowly born soldier?
Instead of arguing, I bow my head, trying not to look ill. “As you wish.”
“Truly?” Bartholomew says, sounding pleased as he turns to me. “Will you teach me that thing you do with your sword?”
“Thing?” I ask hesitantly.
“The one where you lunge forward”—he leaps to his feet and extends his arm in front of him as he acts out the move—“And then you feint to the right, and then to the left, and you turn three-quarters of the way around, duck down, and sweep your opponent’s feet out from under him.”
I’ve never done that in my life.
“It sounds as if you have a fine grasp of it already,” I answer.
“There will be time for that later,” King Algernon says heavily. “For now, Bartholomew, you will accompany Henrik as he oversees a supply trip up to Fortress Lintanry.”
My stomach sinks. A supply run to the northern mountains is a tedious assignment, the command of which is usually given to aging knights and often takes several weeks to complete. There isn’t the slightest chance I will earn my seal with the mission.
Bartholomew turns to me, grinning. “Up into the Dorian Mountains? It sounds like a grand adventure, doesn’t it, Henrik?”
“Grand,” I manage.
“Bartholomew,” Algernon says, “Why don’t you go home and prepare—tell your mother you’ll be gone for a while.”
The boy turns on his heel to face his uncle and gives him a curt bow. “As you command, Uncle. I thank you for giving me this new opportunity to grow.”
With a frown, the king nods him out of the room.
After the door closes, Algernon sighs. “His mother begged me to transfer him to someone with a bit more patience than Lawrence. I know you’re not a knight yet, but you’re the only man who came to mind. You’ll watch over him, won’t you? He’s all my sister-in-law has left. I fear someday I will learn the boy accidentally shot himself with his own crossbow.” He shakes his head. “And heaven help us all—in four years when he comes of age, the boy will be at the head of our military.”
“I’m honored to be chosen, and I will protect him and train him for his future position as well as I am able,” I vow.
Though I do fervently wish someone else had come to his mind.
“I know you will.” He pauses. “I’m sorry about your seal, Henrik. You’ve worked hard.”
“It will mean little if I don’t earn it,” I assure him.
He nods, but he still looks regretful. Then, changing the subject, he says, “We’ve heard of trouble in the mountains. That’s why I’m assigning you to the supply run.”
“What kind of trouble?” I ask, my interest piqued.
“Rumors mostly. People are saying the aynauths are on the move.”
“Aynauths? They rarely leave their territory.”
Algernon nods. “I’m not certain there’s much to the gossip, but I would like you to speak with the local guards. Perhaps scout a bit while you’re up there. Return to me with any information you can glean.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sensing the audience is finished, I turn to leave.
“Henrik,” he says before I’m to the door. “Take heart. I am certain you will earn your seal soon.”
I swallow my disappointment and nod. “Thank you, sire.”