Valor: Prologue

            Three young boys run about, playing among a well-cultivated yard and garden. All three had wooden toy swords, quickly dashing back and forth, fighting imaginary beasts and each other.

            “We should play a game where we’re all knights!” one said, raising the sword. “We could become princes, and marry princesses!”

            One of his friends scoffed at that. His wooden sword was a little shabbier, little more than a plank of wood made to look, vaguely, like a sword, and his clothes had a more worn appearance compared to his friends. “Who wants to marry a princess?”

He gained a devious smile, his face framed by stringy red hair. “I say we be highwaymen!”

His friend looked mortified. “I don’t want to be a bad guy Will!”

“Who says we’d be bad?” Will shot back, brow furrowed. “We’d take from those who have too much, give to those who had nothing!”

“We’d be stealing!”

“I have an idea Mike,” the third child said. He was a little younger than the other two, and a little smaller. He was also far darker in skin, and his dress still borrowing heavily from his homeland to the east. “What if Will was a bandit, and you were the knight trying to stop him,” he’d raise his hands and wiggle his fingers, “but you had to work together to stop the evil wizard!”

Mike’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” he’d look at Will, all smiles. “And wizards have a ton of money! We’d be able to give it back to the people, yeah?”

That got Will’s attention, and he nodded eagerly, but then looked confused. “Who will you be Gus?” he’d ask, waving his sword at him.

Gus turned his sword around, clutching the blade like it was a handle, and would throw his arms to the side. “The wizard!” he said, and then made fire and thunder sound effects with his mouth, “casting spells” from his sword-turned wand. The other two boys yelped and ran for cover, but would quickly run to try and defeat their “evil” friend.

It could’ve been the same day, or any number of days that came after. Sitting around their dinner table, Michael sat in silence as his older brother spoke of his day to their parents. His younger sisters likewise sat quietly, the only noises being the sounds of their dining.

“Very nice Solomon,” their father said, dabbing away the juices of a chunk of beef he had just eaten. “What about you, Michael?”

Michael gulped. His father intimidated him. He glanced up and said “I practiced the piano some, and also studied my Holy Texts. I, uh, I also worked on Arithmetic with Cinnaeus, and he said I was improving.”

There was a slight pause. His brother, sneering, then said “he also spent at least two hours playing games with his peasant friends from town.”

“Sol!” Michael hissed, but it was too late. His father’s gaze locked with his. “Why must you continue to play with foreigners and thieves, Michael?”

“B-but father,” he stammered, “Gus is just from the eastern provinces! He’s not foreign.”

“Close enough!” his father said, waving a hand dismissively. “God is merely a curiosity to his kind, not a devotion like ours. And the other one… that Morund boy again?”

“Yes father,” Michael said quietly, looking down at his plate.

“If you mingle with trash, son, you’ll be trash.”

Michael’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. His mother looked at her father with reproach, but said nothing more than a light “Cyrus.”

His brother, of course, had plenty to say. “Doesn’t being a Niels mean anything to you?”

Before his father could back Solomon up, Michael said “oh stuff it! I saw you leading a village girl into the woods.”

Solomon said nothing, but his face turned crimson, and their sisters giggled fitfully. Cyrus Niels fumed, and turned his ire towards Solomon, though they had to leave the table as it was a discussion, as his mother put, “unfit for dinner conversation.”

When Michael left the table, he just shook his head at his father’s thoughts. Will and Gus weren’t bad! They were his friends. Why did it matter where they came from, or how they lived?

Gustav walked up the long road from Yewmark proper to the Niels Estate. He’d walked it many times in the past ten years, and he walked it now with the somber reflection of a young man whose world was rapidly changing.

“Hey Mike,” Gustav said as he walked up, taking up position beside him by the fence.

Michael seemed a little startled, and brushed a stray blonde lock from his face. “Hey Gus,” he responded, before looking at the field again. Gustav could clearly hear the depression, or perhaps frustration, in Michael’s voice.

Sighing, he said “really sucks what happened to Will.”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Michael agreed, leaning down and setting his chin on the fence.

A silence stretched between them. “But,” Michael said after a moment, “I guess we both knew he’d be caught some day, huh?”

Gustav laughed slightly. “Yeah, I suppose. Maybe the Church will do him some good?”

Gustav had tried to hide the skeptical tone in his voice. Michael nodded instinctively, but then leaned back up, looking at the sky. Gustav figured he had managed it, up until Michael suddenly said “you don’t really follow any of the Holy Texts, do you?”

After looking around for a moment, nervously, Gustav took a gulp and said “well… no. I mean, me and my parents go on occasion, but… I don’t know, they just never took it seriously. I don’t remember ever even going to church until we moved here.”

Michael pursed his lips in thought, and then sighed. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Dangerous to wonder,” Gustav answered, plucking a piece of tall grass from the ground and sticking it in his mouth. Michael didn’t understand that he and his family essentially had to go to Church now, or be branded heretics. Foreigners were one sort who couldn’t question God. Nobles were the other.

Michael continued as if Gustav had said nothing. “Well, what’s His plan for someone like Will, ya know? My dad’s always had money. Your dad struck big with that mining stuff, and even you’ll probably move to Aurosimmar soon.” Gustav winced, but didn’t interrupt as Michael kept going. After all, he was right; there was simply more opportunity there, especially for an Easterner like Gustav. “But Will? His father worked day in, day out, until he dies. His mother works just enough to stop them from starving… and well, who can blame Will for wanting a little more money?”

“Well, I don’t,” Gustav said, which provoked a surprised look from Michael. Gustav shook his head, and with an exasperated smile, looked at Michael saying “Come on Mike… I’m not saying Will was right for stealing, but no one would hire him. Your dad never even called him Will.” Gustav puffed out his chest, and tried to put on a haughty voice befitting the Lord Cyrus. “That Morund boy.”

Michael’s face flushed. “I… okay, yeah, I know. My dad…” he sighed. “I know.”

“So,” Gustav continued, plucking the grass from his lips and holding it idly in his hand, “Will stole what no one would miss. And I imagine, despite what you say? You do blame him for it.”

Michael’s face flushed even more, but after a moment, nodded numbly. Gustav gave a somewhat victorious smile, but the reality of the situation sank back in quickly enough. Will was gone, and within a few weeks, Gustav would be too.

The two boys stared out over the field, watching the horses graze.

“What in blazes are we to do with you, Morund?”

“You could kick me out of here,” Will volunteered all too eagerly. The rector frowned, and shook his head. William figured that would be too easy. What was this man to do with him, anyhow? With long, scraggly red hair, the wisps of a mustache, and bruises darkening his fair skin, he hardly looked like the proper student of Saint Lennin’s Monastery. He didn’t mind keeping it that way, either.

“And that’s exactly what you want,” said Rector Koumann. Leaning over his desk, and having pegged William’s hope so precisely, he then said “so I’ll be doing no such thing.”

The young man gave an exasperated, exaggerated sigh, and then glared at the rector. “Then get used to seeing me. I’ll not put up with anything, from you, the students, or the teachers.” A challenge he was hoping Koumann would rise to.

“Content with being a brigand, hm?” the rector growled, shaking his white-capped head.

“Content!” William yelled, laughing harshly. “I am anything but content!” He stood from his seat, tossing it to the side. “I haven’t lived in your oaken halls and in God’s grace! My life has not been blessed! So why, then, should I listen to the drivel of a preacher telling me how blessed I am?”

For a moment, the rector looked stunned, and William enjoyed that. He wanted this man to fear him, fear what he’d been forced to become. But then William’s eyes met the rector’s, and he felt him looking into them, not just at them. It almost froze William.

“Hmm.” The rector leaned back in his seat, and opened his desk. William’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders slumped. Why wasn’t this man rising to the challenge?

“Are you familiar with the story of King Belgaias?” Koumann said suddenly.

“Um,” William thought, and then shook his head. “No.”

“Well, you’ve heard of the Holy City of Belgammar, yes?”

William reached up and shifted some hair from his face. After a moment, he recalled the city and nodded. He’d heard that it existed and was holy, at any rate.

“Alright then, well, it’s named after him. It was more or less the center of his kingdom, long before the first Church was formed. Well.” He paused. “First Church of the Triune, anyways. His stories are rarely spoken of, due to their rather… violent nature.”

William found himself listening, though not yet moving to sit down. Still… some of the fight was fading from him. “He was believed to be of divine blood, at least half, if not more. He was known not only for his great strength and fighting prowess, but his strategic mind and, most importantly, his faith.”

William reached over and set the chair he had tossed to rights. Sitting down, he scoffed, saying “well, the last is hardly surprising. If he was of divine blood, would he not be blessed? And as you said, he was king.”

The rector shook his head. “There is more to life than the material, young Morund, and these were early days. Days when our God was newly honed into the Triune, and unable to proclaim his sovereignty over Heaven and Earth. Being one of divine blood, his kingdom was targeted by all those hoping to strike at our still-weakened holy father, and though he lived as a king, he also bore all the burdens of a king, one whose kingdom was constantly under siege.

“Many times he set out to vanquish his foes, razing them to the earth in the name of God. Still, he suffered with every man, woman, and child who met their end at the hands of those striking at him to strike at his father.” He paused. “What would you have done here?”

“I…” William paused. His face contorted as he struggled with the question. Leading him on, the rector asked “Who would you have blamed? Yourself?”

“No!” William yelped, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to swallow it down, and regaining his composure, said “I… it sounds like he was doing all he could. He was striking at his foes, not merely sitting back and letting them strike at him.”

“So who would you blame?... God?”

William’s eyes widened. “Blame… God?”

“Yes,” the rector asked more fervently. “Would you blame God? When the weight of all of your foes weigh upon you SOLELY because of your connection to the Lord, our High Master, he who protects us and shelters us, but who would do nothing to strike at them, would you blame him?”

“No!” William shouted back. “No, I would not! It’s… my father,” he said, choking slightly. Swallowing, he specified “my father, my dad… he always taught me that a man’s sins, a man’s troubles, were his own. To blame just anyone you could made you less.”

The rector’s response was swift. “So, if you would not blame God for the weight of a thousand foes, why would you blame him for your problems now?”

“I… don’t,” William said. He hardly felt like he believed it, though. Nor did his voice sound as if he did.

“Nor did King Belgaias,” the rector continued. “He struggled, but he instead prayed, waiting and asking for his father’s help. Finally, so desperate for his teachings, he locked himself in his castle, and fastened himself down in the city. The gates were locked tight, and the enemies fell upon his lands in droves.”

William sat, rapt. The story had him entangled, and when the rector didn’t continue, William blurted out “and then what? Please sir, tell me! What did Belgaias do?”

“Nothing,” the rector said, shaking his head softly. “The enemies would, in return for his own attacks, ravage his lands, and lay siege upon the mighty walls of his kingdom… and then they were gone.”

“Gone?” William asked in disbelief. “Gone how? Did God do it?”

The rector laughed, his knowing tone irritating William slightly. “Perhaps? Some say God did it, some say it simply happened, but the worst famine to strike the Belgaias’ kingdom in many years struck as the siege went on. The stores within the castle were full, while the farms outside, already ravaged, were completely dead. Drought dried up lakes and rivers. What wasn’t killed by drought was eaten by locusts. His enemies broke the siege to retreat to their greener kingdoms, considering the land damned. Many of them died in the resulting trek back to their lands.”

William sat stunned. “I… don’t understand. Was Belgaias to be happy his kingdom was starved, destroyed, left in shambles? He was the king of a desert, from what it sounds!”

The rector raised a finger, and it silenced William. “His lands were indeed ravaged… and no longer a target. It took decades to restore his kingdom to its former glory. In that time, though, none attacked him, considering the land not worth taking. His foes were without faith, and even if killing Belgaias would strike against the Lord, they would not do it for nothing. They instead turned on each other, and by the time the kingdom of Belgaias was thriving again, all around him was weakened by warfare.”

William sat, trying to digest what he was being told. “And this is all… true.”

The rector took a small book from his desk, sliding it across the table. It seemed very plain, and William frowned. “I… I can’t read Achdrammen. I can only read Toremen.” Even then, William didn’t know that too well either.

“This is a translated copy,” the rector said, “and rather barebones. I want you to read it, on your own terms, and come to your own conclusions, not those fed to you by preachers speaking to a flock.”

“I still don’t understand,” William said, finding himself growing frustrated once more. “What was Belgaias to learn from that? Did God help him? Was he to be rewarded for inaction?”

“I can only tell you what I got from it,” the rector said calmly, and leaned onto his elbows, his hands clasped together. “I learned that, from adversity, we can gain strength. And that, like looking into the stores in his castle, we can sometimes find our greatest strength not from looking upward,” he looked up, spreading his hands, before folding them back to his heart, “but inward. For God’s grace and blessing may not fall upon us all evenly…”

He’d point at William, and his next words sent chills from William’s spine all the way down to his neck. “But you, as all, are part of his plan. How, though, is up for you to find.”

William looked at the book, still set between them on the desk… and reached forward, taking it and staring at it…

Being an elf in a human city was difficult. Particularly the regional capital of Aurosimmar. Although he was in his twenties, he still looked closer to seventeen. He blended in rather well, though… he was tall for an elf, which put him about the same height as the humans “his age.” His hair, though green, was very dark, and commonly mistaken for black. Really, it was just his ears that drew attention.

For several weeks he’d been at this academy, trying to do his best to avoid drawing any more ire than he had to. His affinity for magic made that more difficult, as his less skilled classmates saw him as a threat. He could (and had) defended himself when he needed to, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Today, he heard those all too familiar jeers and taunts, but he hadn’t even entered the main hall… it sounded as though someone else was the target. He entered and looked around carefully.

He saw two students of his class picking on, judging by his uniform, a new student. He was a little shorter, and didn’t look to be very old. He was also darker than anyone he’d ever seen!

“Whoever heard of a desert-dwelling wizard?” one of the older boys jeered, pushing at the kids shoulder.

The young boy’s green eyes blazed back. “Knock it off, I’m serious!”

“Oh really?” said the other boy, putting his hands on his hips, and leaning in. “Go ahead, take a shot.” He’d stick his chin out.

His other friend pat his fists together, eager. “Yeah, go ahead. You hit him, then I’ll hit you. Then we’ll pound you back into the dirt where you belong, lowborn!”

The young man’s fists clenched, but he didn’t strike. Finally, the elven boy came up from behind, saying “hey, knock it off.”

One of them barely glanced back. “What do you want, sap-sucker?”

“For you to take a long walk down a thin branch,” he retorted.

“Huh?”

Humans. “If you want a fight, you can consider it evened up,” he said.

“What,” one of them said, jerking a thumb at the dark-skinned boy, “don’t feel like a little purification?”

The elven boy’s cheeks burned, and he took a step closer, eyes blazing at what had been said. “If I did, I’d start with you.”

That got their attention, and though they started to look as though they’d back off, the boy they’d been antagonizing would kick forward, hitting one of them in their most sensitive area. Although slightly stunned, the elven boy jumped on the other, not wanting to waste the advantage. The fight that ensued was only broken apart when another few older students pulled them apart, and then teachers hauled them off separately.

Later, while cleaning the western hall (their opponents were stuck cleaning the east), the other young man went over to the elf. “Hey, thanks for your help… you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t have to, but they’d been picking on me for weeks. I could’ve left them to get on you, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

The young man just looked at him, almost in awe, and then grinned. “Ha, I guess not. I’m Gustav Nogaspo… just moved here from Yewmark. My friends there called me Gus.”

The elf grinned. “I’m Elias, ah, Elias Lyttler. Pleasure to meet you Gustav.”

“Please,” Gus said with a sly grin. “Call me Gus.”

Michael gave a relieved and relaxed sigh as he came back from town. He always enjoyed riding with the guards, and though today his sword hadn’t tasted blood, they had still managed to catch some bandits to the south. Michael was well-liked in town for his efforts in assisting the guards.

Of course, outside of town, back on the lands his father owned…

As he approached the stables, his father and his brother both rode up to them. The difference between them was obvious, right down to their horses. The horses of his family were all well-groomed riding horses, barely a hair out of place, with intricate saddles, taped tails, and the physique of the show horses they were.

Michael’s horse, Perimor, was a tougher breed, a work horse he had bought to assist him on his sojourns. Knicks and cuts marred its muscular frame, and the saddle was one of functionality, not display. Michael wasn’t much better, with a few scars here and there, dents and knicks on the chest-piece he wore.

Likewise, while both his father and brother kept their hair longer and pinned, long hair was bothersome to Michael, and he regularly shaved his head. So he was very much opposite his family as they approached. “Having fun with the commoners?” Solomon called, and meant every word as an insult.

“It’s not about fun, Sol,” Michael responded as his horse walked over to theirs. Perimor was tired, but dutiful, and he patted him on the head. Just a bit longer boy.

“It is unbefitting for a Niels to engage in such activities,” his father said, sniffing as if he caught a whiff of something foul. “That you continue to do so is embarrassing.”

Michael frowned, but was not surprised. His father had often said such things. It was, unfortunately, nothing new.

“One wonders why you even stay here,” Solomon quipped, laughing nastily afterwards. “You’re far more at home amidst the mud and dirt than the market.”

“I figure I will leave such… intellectual pursuits to you, Sol,” Michael said evenly. Michael was no great mathematician, but he had helped his father at market when Solomon had been ill one winter, and it was one of the few times Michael had received praise. He noticed a twitch on his father’s face now, remembering that, but doing nothing to turn Solomon’s ire.

“All the better,” Solomon said, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at what Michael imagined was the barest thread of sweat forming at his brow. “You’d most likely scare off the people at market anyways.”

That provoked a more serious frown from Michael. “The people in town seem to enjoy my presence, and I have gone to market quite often.”

“Yes, the market of beggars.” Solomon responded immediately.

Their father broke in here, saying “I would certainly prefer you follow the family trade, son. It is, after all, your heritage.”

“Only because grandfather was awarded this land for his service to the King,” Michael snapped, beginning to grow angry.

“Is that what you’re about?” Solomon said, laughing a loud, bird-like squawk. “As if you playing guard makes you a warrior.”

“Solomon,” their father started, but Michael urged Perimor forward, getting closer to Solomon.

“You think I’m playing out there?” Michael said coolly.

Solomon had looked to their father, and upon looking back to Michael, clearly missed the tone of Michael’s voice. “Of course. Why, I’m surprised you even know how to ride. You’re no better than the rest of the rubes and provincials.”

Michael’s teeth ground together, and his father was starting to quietly murmur for Solomon to cease. But no, not this time. Clenching the reigns, Michael kept himself as even as possible, saying “is that what you think? Fine, then. I challenge you to a duel.”

“Michael!” his father yelped, while Solomon’s eyes merely widened. “You will not challenge your brother to a-”

Michael put a hand to his hilt, and Perimor instinctively backed up, snorting in frustration. “Be silent father!”

It was a strange moment, as Lord Cyrus, perhaps for the first time, did as his son told him. And when he did, Solomon’s eyes widened even more, and his face went the color of snow. “Father, this is… he is being childish, he cannot be allowed to-”

“I will not allow further insult to my deeds and the people who support you!” he said, drawing his sword. The iron blade was kept polished and sharp, and glinted in the light of the late afternoon. “If you feel you are so superior, sitting across the hall from the women and counting coins, sipping on teas and ending each night fallen by a mere glass of wine, then prove it!”

“You can’t be serious!” Solomon yelled.

“I am issuing you a gentleman’s challenge, brother! One to the blood!” Michael said, though he was beginning to grow louder. “If you try to refuse it, I swear I will ride to the nearest court and have you stripped of your nobility for cowardice!”

“Michael!” his father gasped, now almost as pale as his brother.

“No more!” Michael roared again, raising his sword and pulling on the reigns. Perimor reared. “I will no longer be mocked by womanish cowards! You will accept my challenge, brother, or I swear you will find yourself penniless on the day we dread, when the inheritance falls to our father’s children!”

Finally, Solomon seemed to be rising to it, if somewhat. Color rose back to his face, blotching it with red. “I accept your challenge! Sabers! A-at dawn, as is customary, yes?” he stammered, looking to his father for confirmation.

Michael thrust his sword back into its scabbard, glaring at Solomon. “So be it! Sabers to the blood, at dawn, three days from now!”

“Why so long brother? Fr-frightened?”

“Nay,” Michael said evenly, “but tomorrow I will ride to find a neutral party that will bear witness, and should you decide to hide under our mother’s dress when the time comes,” Michael leaned in, his mouth showing all teeth in a smile that was far from reassuring, “I will strip you of the life you don’t deserve, so help me God.”

Michael let out a loud “hyah!” before riding Perimor away from his father and brother, leaving them both sitting there in stunned silence. All at once, both now found the power stripped from their hands… and were completely broken because of it.

It had been a while since William had been back to Yewmark. He’d come back a couple of times in the winter to help his mother, but he’d never stuck around long, nor had he bothered seeing Michael.

It was just all… too much, at the time. Even five years later, he only felt he was just getting over what he’d been in Yewmark. It had been easy to forget and put it past him at St. Lennin’s, but whenever he came back, the same anger had always started to seep in.

He was hoping that wouldn’t happen this time. He walked the familiar road to the Niels Estate, reliving some of his better memories. Him, Mike, and Gus… they’d been thick as thieves, though only William had truly earned the title. Gus had never minded sharing the spoils, though.

Michael… William frowned. Him and Michael, despite being friends, had always been so different. Michael had been good, faithful, and slow to anger. William had been a heathen. Gus, a year younger and smaller than them both, made a rather poor moderator. How many times had him and Mike scrapped? And how many times had Mike won over him?

The estate looked the same as it always had, at least to his mind. Were some of the trees new? Were the stables larger? It was so hard to tell. Even before his time at the monastery, he had spent less and less time here, as Michael more frequently went into the village to play with them instead of the other way around, if only to escape the eyes of his aristocratic, judgmental father.

William took a breath, closed his eyes, and stopped walking for a moment. He had long forgiven his friend’s father. Just as God had placed adversities such as Lord Cyrus before him, God had surely placed adversities before Lord Cyrus. It was a common man, a man such as Lord Cyrus, who could not rise above such adversities not just in business, but in spirit as well.

At the main gate, one of the Niels Guards stood ready. He wore the yellow tabard with the familiar black lion on it. Though he tensed for a moment upon seeing William, he seemed to relax visibly upon seeing William’s clerical garb. In stark contrast to the Niels tabard, his own was white with blue trimmings, and the purple cross over his heart.

“Hail Cleric!” the guard said, raising a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What brings you to the Niels Estate?”

William heard the suspicion in the man’s voice, but didn’t blame him. He also tried to judge the man’s age… older than he was, certainly, but not enough that he expected the man to have been working here while William had visited, long ago.

“I am Acolyte Morund, with the given name William. I come on, aah, a personal matter. I was friends with one of the sons of Lord Cyrus, uh, Master Michael?”

“Morund,” the guard sounded, “why, are you the son of Margita Morund?”

“I am,” William said levelly, and fought to stop the instinctive clenching of his fists. Please make nothing of it, he thought, both to himself and the other man.

The man simply shook his head. “I was a stable-hand at the local cotton fields, and I knew your father. A good, hardworking man he was.”

William gave a relieved smile. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that,” William said, gesturing towards the heavens.

The guard grinned sheepishly, glancing upwards, and then nodded. “I’ll inform one of the Niels or their servants, please wait here.”

“Of course,” William replied, nodding and turning to look out over the fields. He saw several horses in them, though if any were the same from his youth, they’d surely be near their end.

William wasn’t sure who he expected to greet him, but with the guard came one of those he certainly did not expect; Solomon Niels.

“Faith above, it is William Morund, I’d recognize that hair anywhere.”

William cast a sideways glance to his prominent red hair, which he was glad to have long once more. His time at the monastery had dictated short hair, and he’d never seen the purpose in it. Out from under the yoke, he intended to set that to right.

He bowed respectfully. “Master Solomon, it’s good to see you again.”

Solomon waved his hand. He was almost ten years older than he or Michael, and certainly seemed older. Though he wasn’t fat, he certainly wasn’t muscled either, and his face was somewhat drawn. “Dispense with the formalities, please, come in. Michael isn’t here right now, I’m afraid, but he should be back within an hour or so.”

“Oh,” William said, pausing, “I would hate to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” Solomon said, and after insisting upon William’s entrance, William finally relented, walking through the front gate.

Solomon and he made small talk on the state of Yewmark as they walked into the Estate’s main hall. “The cotton fields have been particularly poor as of late. Each harvest seems less productive than the last.”

“Distressing,” William said, his thoughts of two minds about it. “Has your family been able to come through fairly?”

“Oh yes,” Solomon said without hesitation. “After all, we trade in all manner of material, not just cotton. We’ve hired more hands to tend to more horses, which are always in high demand, and the Nogaspo Mines provide a steady supply of both stone and tin for us to sell.”

“Good to hear,” William said, and Solomon motioned for him to sit at a coffee table. William nodded and did so, pausing to remove his mace from his belt and set it on the carpet. He saw Solomon eye it nervously, but didn’t bring it up.

“What of the state of Yewmark itself? I admit to coming here almost immediately.”

“The town?” Solomon asked, pouring two cups of tea. William didn’t know where the tea had come from, only that it had been here before them. “The town fares well enough. Most of them are enamored with my brother, in fact.”

“Oh?” That was the first thing of great interest Solomon had said.

Solomon nodded, sipping at the tea. “Mm, yes. Initially it was the work he took upon himself, assisting the guards with their patrols. After a discussion with father and I, we began to fund the guards for better equipment and increased numbers. Since there was less crime, the tax money was able to be used on more domestic matters, many of which were spear-headed by my brother.”

William stared at Solomon for a moment. Although that all sounded like Michael, he found it impossible that Lord Cyrus could be swayed to offer a tuppence to Yewmark, let alone funding the guard.

“Ha, I… that’s amazing. I’m sure the Lord will look favorably upon your generosity.”

Solomon paused, stewing that over, and then smiling, said “I suppose He will, hmm? Hardly why we did it, of course.” He cleared his throat. “We did it to… assist the town, you know? After all, a healthy town is a wealthy town.”

There was clearly more to that than William knew, but he nodded, and continued their conversation. William directed the conversation towards horses in particular, asking about their stock. The monastery had possessed some particularly miserable, overworked beasts, and he made mention they would probably pay well for a few handsome, strong beasts. William himself had learned to ride on a nag barely fit to pull a cart.

After a short while one of the house servants stood at the doorway, clearing his throat to gain Solomon’s attention. “Yes Leander?”

“Master Michael is returning, sir.”

“Splendid!” Solomon said, clapping his hands together, and then pressing them to the table to help him stand. As William stood, he noticed then that ring finger on Solomon’s right hand was… very short. He realized he was looking at a fake nail of some sort at the end, and it seemed to have been cut off at the tip. He quickly pulled his gaze away, and followed Solomon to the stables.

Once there, William was somewhat flabbergasted by what his friend had become. With a clean bald head, arms marred by scars, and a frame fitting for one of the warrior raiders of the north, Michael was almost twice his size. William supposed he had thought… perhaps, and he hated to admit it, hoped… that he would now be Michael’s match, physically. One look at him was enough to convince him otherwise.

Upon seeing him, even as Solomon spoke to introduce him, Michael’s face opened into a grin and ran over, giving William a bear hug. “William Morund, by God it’s good to see you!”

Michael’s laughing was infectious, and William found himself laughing and hugging Michael back. When they separated, William grabbed Michael’s hand and shook it. “Solomon’s been telling me some of your exploits, old friend, well done! If God has ever blessed Yewmark, he’s blessed it with you!”

Michael laughed, smiling sheepishly. “You do me too much honor Will!”

Solomon interjected, saying “I’ll leave you two to catch up, I’m sure father could use my assistance.”

There was a brief exchange of looks there, one of concern. William didn’t need to ask about what. Lord Cyrus was entering his sixth decade, and though he’d always been healthy, even the well-off aristocrats rarely saw their seventieth year.

“Give him my best,” Michael said, nodding to Solomon. William echoed the sentiment a moment later, and Solomon was off.

Once he was gone, Michael’s face regained its pleased smile, and he said “come, let’s walk! I’ve always enjoyed walking outdoors more than sitting over some tea.”

William smirked. “I’m guessing you know what Solomon prefers, then?”

Michael laughed. “How was the tea?”

“Very good, actually… I’m just not much of a tea-drinker.”

Michael laughed again, loudly. “Nor am I, old friend.”

They stopped walking by one of the paddocks and a large horse with a deep red coat strode over. It was a warhorse, by William’s standards; muscular, and with old scars here and there. Michael set a hand upon it. “This is Perimor, my horse. He joins me on most of the sojourns Solomon spoke of.”

“It sounds as though you’ve fought battles against more than bandits and goblins, hmm?” William asked. When Michael sent him an inquisitive look, William said “Solomon told me that you convinced he and your father to be somewhat more generous towards the town guard.”

“Ah that,” Michael said, frowning slightly. “I’ll admit, I probably could’ve handled it better, to be honest. My grasp over my brother and father is merely one of physical presence, I’m afraid.”

“… You?” William asked, almost stunned. Although Michael was certainly intimidating, William never saw him as a violent man, not towards those undeserving, and as checkered as his past with Cyrus and Solomon Niels was, they hardly deserved assault.

“I challenged my brother to a duel some years back, and… well, to keep a story short, I won.” He pat the side of the horse’s head and it trotted off. Michael gave a sad smile to William. “I’m afraid my father and brother don’t listen to much more than threats of one kind or another.”

“I’m surprised Solomon accepted!” William exclaimed, and after a moment, he began to fit some pieces together. “… I suppose he’d prefer his nobility over his ring finger, hmm?”

Michael paled. “That was an accident, I assure you. The fool tried to block a blow with his hilt, fingers out. I managed to stop from hurting him too badly, but the local pastor could do little.”

William set a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mike. It doesn’t seem as though your brother holds it against you.”

“Ha, I suppose not.” Michael shook his head, and smiling, looked at William. “But enough of the past! What brings you back to Yewmark, and the Niels Estate?”

“One can’t just want to visit an old friend?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years Will,” Michael said, wagging a finger at him, “and don’t pretend you haven’t been back in town since.”

Will felt a twinge of guilt, but nodded sheepishly. “Aye, I suppose that’s true. I’ll admit, I do have more reason for coming, though… to make clear, I didn’t enjoy coming back to Yewmark at all, Mike.” Will frowned, and looked down at the dirt. “I regretted what I had become, and coming back to Yewmark, and seeing the squalor in-town, always made me feel that same anger.”

Now Michael placed his hand on William’s shoulder, patting it slightly. “There there friend, I understand. Although I was always sorry to see you go, it’s good to see that you’ve embraced the church.”

“That’s the other reason I’m here,” William said, looking Michael square in the eyes. “I’m at the end of my training at Saint Lennin’s, and desire to become an Adept of the Light. However, due to my… unusual circumstances, the rector has asked for me to have a character witness, one who is faithful and of good heart, but more to the point, honest.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You mean ME?”

“Of course I do!” William said, laughing slightly. “Mike, especially hearing of your activities in recent years, I’d say you’re one of the people the Light shines not only onto, but from. Perhaps you solve some problems by blade, but I know you… I hope I know you, anyhow… well enough that you don’t do so without reason.

“And more importantly, you knew me from before. When I was little more than a petulant, rebellious thief. Little better than a bandit… and let us be honest, without the Church, I probably would be a bandit now.”

“Will!” Michael said in shock. “I will admit, you were going down a bad road, but to full-on banditry? You were never bad Will, you were just… desperate.”

“However you’d like,” William said, shaking his head slightly. “But I came here to ask for your support, and your testimony. Not only for my sake, but perhaps for-”

“Will, let me stop you there,” Michael said firmly, grasping William’s shoulder. “We may have grown apart in years, but if you ask this of me, I will do it solely as your friend. No other reason is needed.”

William smiled, nodding and then bowing slightly. “Thank you, Michael. All I ask of you is to be honest, painfully so if need be.”

“In this case, I’ll rake you over the coals if I have to,” Michael said with a devilish grin, which provoked a surprised laugh from William.

“Well now, don’t go making up stories!”

“Who, William?” Michael said, stepping away from the fence, and addressing an unknown audience. “Even from a young age, he was a deviant! Why, I’m not positive of this, but let us say that more of the village girls gave birth to red-heads than not, hmm?”

William laughed heartily, face reddening. You didn’t hear jokes like that at the monastery. “You’d have me stripped of the cross, Mike!”

“Yes, William was a card for certain,” Michael said, moving back over to William and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leading him back towards the house. “Women, wine, and fond of the bawdiest songs and tales you’d ever heard. Why, I remember one story he told of a dwarf with an unholy affection for sheep and goats.”

William laughed again. “That was Gus’ story, you sod!”

“Gus? Nonsense, a saint he was! Not like that bewitched William Morund!”

William jabbed Michael in the ribs slightly. “You keep this up and you’ll owe me a few drinks, Master Michael!”

Michael grinned. “Then let us drink and be merry! Tomorrow we will ride for your church, but tonight? Let us celebrate our friendship!”

“I’ll drink to that!” William said, all too eager to get to know his old friend all over again.