Shadows of Consequence - 6. Chapter 6

Pa was furiously splitting logs in the yard as Sam and Graeme rode along the farm’s lane. Upon noticing their arrival, he called out to Mum inside the house, and she emerged moments later. An unexpected atmosphere of precariousness grew as Sam and Graeme dismounted. Pa hefted the axe onto his shoulder and strode toward them. Sweat beaded his brow, and his chest heaved from exertion. His posture stirred Sam’s memory of the bandit leader’s smug attitude, followed by the visceral image of his head nearly lopped off. Sam blinked hard, banishing it from his mind. After all the praise they’d received from the villagers, he was taken aback by his father’s livid expression.

“Pa! We saved her,” he said, hoping to lighten his mood. “We got Rebekah home safe.”

His father ignored him. Instead, his gaze locked onto Graeme. “Tell me, Ser Knight, what right do you have to take my son into such danger?”

Graeme stepped forward. “I appreciate your concern, Mr Harkenstone, but please understand the decision was entirely his.”

The knight’s sincere tone seemed to temper Pa’s aggression, but Sam rushed to stand between them regardless.

“Pa, don’t blame him for anything. What did Mum tell you?”

She approached—her eyes red and puffy. Taking Sam into her arms, she squeezed him tightly and kissed his forehead.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” she said.

“I gave you my word he would be safe,” Graeme said.

She tilted her head to regard him with respect, though perhaps a touch begrudgingly. “You did. Forgive me for not trusting you.”

“I don’t understand,” Pa said, then turned to her. “You told me he took Sam.”

“That’s not true at all,” Sam cried. “Ser Graeme refused me at first. It wasn’t until I insisted. After all, only I knew the ruins’ location.”

Pa lowered the axe head to the ground. “Then I owe you an apology, Ser Graeme. My anger was misplaced.” His gaze then turned to Sam with renewed agitation. “Look what you’ve done to your mother.”

“Mum, Pa . . . I’m twenty-two years old. My decisions are my own.” He gave his mother a stern frown. “I told you that!”

Despite the tension in the air, his parents considered his words. Sam might’ve been correct, but that didn’t make it any easier for them to accept. Extending his arms, he pulled them into a hug.

“I’m fine. Everything’s okay.”

Graeme edged away and busied himself idly with the horses, providing them with some privacy.

“So Rebekah’s home safe?” Mum asked. “They didn’t hurt her?”

Sam shook his head.

“Susanna and Russel must’ve been very thankful.”

“They were. And we found all the silver those bandits stole from us, from Reabury. Mr Newham has it—see him to get your share back.”

Pa’s eyes widened. “But what of the bandits?”

“Three dead. The fourth managed to get away, but he was running scared. Graeme felt sure we’ll never see him again.”

“But did . . . did you—?” Mum stuttered, unable to complete her question.

“No, I didn’t kill them. It was all Graeme. You wouldn’t believe how strong his armour is—”

“Excuse me, Mr Harkenstone,” the knight said. “These four horses belonged to the bandits. I’ve taken them in lieu of payment. May I keep them in your stables for the time being?”

Pa eyed the team of horses. “It’ll be tight, but yeah, you’re welcome to stable them until you set out on the road again.”

Hearing that, Sam’s heart sank. His brief adventure was over, and the man who’d included him would be leaving soon.

“I’ll help,” he said, grabbing the lead of the four horses before anyone could deny him.

“Very well,” Graeme said.

The two worked in companionable silence, undertaking a thorough assessment of the horses. Their shoes were in dire need of replacement, but Sam could have them reshod before Graeme left. It was fortunate he’d already shaped so many blank horseshoes.

“You led me to believe the route to those ruins was difficult,” Graeme said. “Our trek was straightforward. You could have easily described the way.”

Sam licked his lips. “I might’ve bent the truth—”

“I never said you were lying—”

“It was the only way you’d let me join.”

Graeme stared at him. “Indeed. Well played.”

A nervous smile grew on Sam’s face. “I didn’t . . . mean to deceive you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No. You stood firm to your beliefs and wanted to help. I cannot fault you for that.”

A quiet pause settled between them before they resumed their work, though Sam’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to the bandits. Assuredly, this day would remain fresh in his memory for a long time, perhaps for as long as he lived. Yet the need to prove himself to Graeme surged within his chest. He questioned it—why was the knight’s approval so important to him? But then, the question answered itself. Graeme was a knight—a man of honour, strength, and integrity. He cared for the common man. Sam’s attraction to Graeme’s armour, which exuded fortitude and power, didn’t help matters. In Sam’s eyes, earning the knight’s respect was all-important, and he didn’t care if anyone else thought it foolish.

“I wish you would’ve let me fight at your side,” he blurted out, immediately biting his tongue.

The knight’s helmet rose from behind one of the horses, regarding Sam with a curious tilt of the head. “I understand you relish the idea of being a squire—my squire. It is a noble desire, but also in direct opposition to the oath I gave your mother.”

I will protect your son with my life.

I swear no harm will come to him.

“So, had you not made that oath, you wouldn’t have pushed me away?” Sam’s tone made no attempt to hide the humiliation he felt.

With a ponderous gait, the knight approached him. Armour clanked with each step. His unseen eyes through the helmet’s visor held Sam in place.

“I wronged you,” the knight stated.

Red-faced, Sam looked down. Hearing Graeme speak it aloud felt worse than being bashed by his shield. The knight laid his gauntleted hand upon Sam’s shoulder. The grip was firm, the touch rousing.

“You had wished to prove yourself, and I stole that from you.”

There was a pause, and Sam realised Graeme was asking a question, not declaring a fact. He forced himself to stare into the black slit of the visor.

“Yes.”

The knight immediately went to Tusk, retrieved his shield, and headed for the exit.

“Come!”

Dumbfounded, Sam could only watch the knight turn a corner and head toward the fields. It took another moment before he considered chasing after him.

“Wait,” he stammered, “where are you going?”

Graeme didn’t answer, only pointing farther out, away from the farmhouse and outbuildings. His stride was broad, purposeful—somehow unhindered by the uneven dirt. Sam followed alongside while still allowing the knight to lead, but it didn’t take long for his curiosity to break the silence.

“Graeme, where are you taking me?”

The knight stopped to survey their surroundings, then glanced back toward the house, which now sat far in the distance.

Facing Sam, he said, “We shan’t be disturbed here.” In a deliberate motion, he pulled the longsword free from its scabbard. His armour gleamed in the midday sun—streaks of reflected light causing Sam to squint. The knight raised his shield defensively.

“Attack me!”

Sam’s heart lurched into his throat, and he stumbled back with raised hands. “I don’t want to fight you!”

“Prove yourself, Squire Sam!”

Sam wished he’d stop using that title. It was a lie. But the knight’s booming voice had him pull his shortsword free. He felt absurd.

“Strike me!” Graeme ordered, holding his defensive stance.

The many hours Sam and Mr Kent had spent sparring were only with wooden swords. Neither used a shield, let alone something as imposing as the one Graeme wielded. How could Sam get around that?

Drawing in a hurried breath, Sam ran at him in a snaking motion and feinted with his blade in an attempt to force an opening. Graeme smoothly deflected the jab at his leg with his sword. The shrill ring of clashing metal echoed across the field, and Sam eyed the house nervously. If Mum or Pa caught them doing this, he could only imagine how badly they’d react.

“Fret not. Our actions here will not be heard,” Graeme said, seemingly reading his mind. “Again.”

Sam approached him from another angle and dodged the knight’s ploy to push back with the shield, but then lost the opportunity to hit him in the process.

“Good,” Graeme said. “You’re quick on your feet. Use that to your advantage.”

A smile crossed Sam’s lips. He couldn’t deny the encouragement felt good. While they’d only met less than a day ago, he surmised Graeme wasn’t one to dole out empty platitudes. If he said something, he meant it.

“Prove yourself to me.” The knight’s deep voice reverberated within his helmet.

Sam swiftly closed the space between them. Their swords clashed while he circled the knight, keeping his distance from the shield so that it proved to be a hindrance rather than a form of protection. Uneven dirt at Graeme’s feet caused him to stumble, and Sam didn’t hesitate to exploit it. With a strong backswing, his sword sliced across the knight’s back. The peal of blade against armour proved the hit was square and true, yet as before, the armour’s surface remained pristine—not even a scratch to act as lasting proof of Sam’s minor victory.

Graeme turned to regard Sam. The dark void of the visor’s slit continued to draw Sam in. But at that moment, more than ever, Sam longed to look upon the knight without his helmet. He didn’t care about Graeme’s appearance.

“You hit me,” the knight said, halfway between a statement and surprise.

Sam gestured to the ground with the tip of his blade. “I took advantage of the dirt.”

“Taking advantage of one’s terrain is often how one bests their adversary in combat.”

“It also helped you weren’t fighting back.”

“If we were exchanging blows, you would’ve had more opportunity to find a breach in my guard.”

“But I was only focusing on hitting you, not dodging your attacks.”

“Given your speed, I still believe you would’ve had an advantage.” He sheathed his sword and laid a hand upon Sam’s shoulder again. “Don’t denigrate your ability, Sam. I stand before you impressed.”

Sam tried to mask the thrill the knight’s words and touch brought him, but failed spectacularly. Knowing his face was an open book, he stared at his feet to hide his thoughts. “I guess I should thank Mr Kent for teaching me so well.”

Whether or not Graeme noticed Sam’s excitement, he showed no indication. “Indeed. That this soldier managed to stay alive over the course of his military career speaks to his own proficiency. But a good teacher does not guarantee an astute pupil.” The knight’s hand lingered on his shoulder before granting an encouraging squeeze. “Had I known your ability beforehand, I wouldn’t have knocked you aside at the bandit camp.”

“You made a promise to my mum. I can’t fault you for being overly protective.”

Graeme nodded. “Thank you for understanding. I never meant to question your courage.”

Courage? Sam’s timid reaction to Graeme’s fall at the bandit camp crawled back into his mind. It was pathetic—proof that he was painfully lacking in courage. The abrupt shift in his confidence, from competent to cowardly, forced him to avert his eyes.

“Shall we return?” Graeme asked, gesturing toward the stables.

Disheartened by the shameful memory, Sam only nodded in reply. They walked in silence for a time before Graeme spoke again.

“Sam, had we met under different circumstances, you would’ve made an excellent squire. Truly.”

Once again, Sam felt these words were spoken genuinely, from the heart. He pushed his pessimistic thoughts aside and allowed himself to appreciate the knight’s statement.

“I would’ve been honoured to be your squire, Ser Graeme.”

“The honour would’ve been mine.”

Despite the knight’s surety, Sam thought he still had much to prove. Perhaps not to Graeme, but certainly to himself.