Shadows of Consequence - 2. Chapter 2

Silence lingered after the knight’s greeting. It lasted only a breath, but to Sam, it felt painfully everlasting. Astonishment had taken hold, and he found himself unable to form a sentence. His eyes darted about, wanting to take in the details of the armoured man before him, but not wanting to openly stare, either.

“Hello, Ser Graeme,” Pa said. “What brings you to our humble home?”

“Your village inn has no remaining vacancy due to a trader convoy passing through. The innkeeper, however, kindly informed me that you have a room to let. Is it still available?”

Sam nearly burst at the prospect of a knight sleeping under the same roof as him. He kept a neutral posture to hide his excitement—at least he hoped he did—then looked to his father for his reply.

“I’m afraid our offering wouldn’t be adequate for a knight,” Pa said, bowing his head awkwardly.

Graeme held up his gauntleted hands in deference. “Mr Harkenstone, I can appreciate the fact you don’t have knights visiting your home, but I am still a man like any other. I do not wish to be treated any differently.”

“But—”

“I am a knight-errant. I gave up the luxuries afforded to lords many years ago, and believe I’m a better man for it. Trust me when I say your home is a most welcoming place compared to others where I’ve slept.”

Mum nudged Pa subtly aside. “Would you please come in, Ser Graeme? My name is Sophie.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The knight lowered his head so as not to knock his helmet on the lintel, then gently shut the door. He only stood a hand’s width higher than Sam, but the bulk of the armour exaggerated the knight’s size. Sam mashed his lips tight, trying to keep from smiling like a fool at the sight before him.

“You’re certainly welcome to stay,” Pa said, “but I’d appreciate you remove your helmet. I like to do business face-to-face.”

Graeme let out a discouraged grunt. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Confused, Sam glanced at his parents, who appeared equally puzzled by the statement.

“May we ask why?” Mum asked delicately.

An uncomfortable pause spoke louder than words. “I’ve learnt it’s best to treat this helmet as my face, this armour my skin.”

This baffling remark only brought more questions to Sam’s mind. Pa, however, kept a straight face, granting the knight a composed nod.

“That’s your choice, Ser Graeme, but I can’t let someone into our home without knowing who they are.”

“Of course. I understand completely,” Graeme replied with no disappointment in his voice, only friendly goodwill. “Thank you for your consideration. I wish you all a good evening.”

After a bow of the head, the knight made a hasty retreat. It all happened so quickly that Sam could only react after the door was latched shut.

“Pa! What’re doing? How could you refuse him?”

“Yes, dear,” Mum chimed in. “He seemed a perfect gentleman.”

“But we don’t know who he is,” Pa said.

“We’ve let in many strangers in the past. How does not seeing his face make any difference?”

“You don’t find it . . . strange?”

Mum faltered a moment before replying. “I understand where you’re coming from, but where will the man sleep tonight? It’s cold out.”

“And we’ve got an empty room doing nothing,” Sam blurted out.

His father eyed him with a knowing look. “Given your obsessions with knights, I question your true motives.” It was a playful jibe spoken with a smirk, but then he let out a sigh. “Fine. Go get him.”

Sam dashed for the door, opening it just enough to squeeze through and bolt outside. The knight and his horse were already gone.

“No,” he breathed out.

He sprinted down the lane. Despite the dim evening light, he could still make out the mounted knight’s armour. It appeared to glow blue.

“Ser Graeme!”

The knight stopped his horse and turned in his saddle to find Sam running toward him.

“Did I forget something?” Graeme asked.

Out of breath, Sam approached with a wide smile. “My father reconsidered. You’re welcome to stay.”

“Oh? Did you have anything to do with that?”

He chuckled nervously. “My mum and I coerced him.”

“Then you have my thanks, Mr Harkenstone.”

The knight’s unfamiliar accent and the way he spoke—clear and articulate—grew an air of mystique around him.

“Please, call me Sam.”

“Very well. You may call me Graeme.”

“But you’re a knight. You’re Ser Graeme.”

The knight dismounted and took the reins to lead his horse. “No. If I am to be a guest in your home, we are equals.”

Sam knew better. That’s not how it worked, but he wasn’t about to argue. They walked side by side back toward the house. The clink and rattle of the armour’s metal plates only added to Sam’s excitement. For so long, he yearned to wear such armour. He had no reason to own a suit of protective plate or maille, though. He wasn’t a fighter or a soldier, although he did own a shortsword—a gift from Mr Kent. The blacksmith had taught Sam how to use it, sparring with wooden swords on especially slow days at the smithy.

Then a sudden realisation came to him. “Where’s your squire?”

Graeme’s step faltered, followed by a prickly moment of silence that permeated the chilly air. “My squire lost his life many years ago. We were already very far from home, so I never had another to join me.”

“You’ve been travelling alone ever since?”

The knight hummed in assent, his tone seeming forced to remain neutral.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No harm done, Sam. Curiosity is a healthy trait.”

“Forgive me if I seem eager, it’s just . . . I think your arrival is the most interesting thing that’s ever happened here in Reabury.”

Graeme’s low chuckle brought some levity to the conversation.

“So, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? I don’t recognise your coat of arms or your accent.”

“This does not surprise me. I hail from the farthest lands to the east, beyond the Wardergilian Empire. An isolated country called Rathium.”

Sam let out an astonished breath. “I didn’t know knights-errant travelled so far.”

“I suppose I’ve travelled farther than most. The road beckons, and I ride upon it. I search for those in need and help them.”

They arrived at the house, but Sam still had so many questions. He hoped he’d get a chance to ask them later. “I’d be happy to fill the role of squire for you. Let me stable your horse.”

The knight regarded him silently—unseen eyes through the visor managing to stare him down. Sam immediately felt sheepish for suggesting it, but then Graeme replied, “Her name is Tusk. I would be honoured to have your service, however Tusk is a warhorse. Before you could consider stabling her, she must first become acclimatised to you. She’ll bite if you get too close.”

“Oh,” Sam said, eyeing the horse with apprehension. Tusk’s demeanour belied Graeme’s warning, standing beside them stolidly. “Well, at least let me carry your things inside?”

Graeme tied the reins to the same tree as before. “Certainly. But first, let me discuss the details with your father.”

Sam unlatched the door, offering Graeme to enter. Pa and Mum were sitting at the table, and rose to greet the knight again.

“I thank you for reconsidering,” Graeme said.

Pa scratched the back of his neck wearing a hint of shame on his face. “Aye. My decision was hasty.”

The knight shook his head. “Your reaction was understandable. You are not the first to turn me away, and you most certainly won’t be the last. I appreciate your trust.”

While they discussed lodging arrangements, Sam busied himself by stirring the pot of stew gently bubbling over a low fire. The knight was unsure how long he planned to stay in Reabury—perhaps a few days, perhaps a week. Pa warned that the village’s proximity to the Rothgoraian mountains meant winter settled sooner than expected. And once the snow fell, travel out of the village was at times treacherous, if not impossible.

They settled on the cost, and Graeme extended an armoured hand to shake on their agreement. Pa looked at it quizzically—presumably expecting the knight to at least remove his gauntlet before offering to shake—but after an awkward moment, he accepted it.

“I’ll retrieve my belongings,” Graeme said, “along with coin for the upfront payment.”

“Let me help you,” Sam said, rushing past them to head outside.

The first stars in the sky were making their appearance. Tusk remained patiently where they’d left her. Visible plumes of her hot breath told Sam what he already knew—it was going to be a cold night. Once Graeme had freed the reins, Sam gestured toward the stables and led the way.

The other horses were already inside, neighing in greeting to the three of them. Tusk ignored them, abiding by her stoic temperament. Sam assumed after many years of travelling, she’d grown accustomed to unfamiliar horses and being stabled in foreign places. Graeme led her to an empty stall, away from the others, then handed an oatcake to Sam.

“Tusk,” Graeme said to his horse, “this is Sam.” He gestured for him to approach. “He’s a friend.”

Sam nervously stepped closer. “Hello, Tusk.” He gingerly proffered the treat.

Another visible billow of air arose as Tusk let out a huff. She eyed Sam apprehensively, but then, after a moment, she accepted the oatcake, delicately plucking it from Sam’s hand.

“She likes you,” Graeme stated.

Sam glanced over to him. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes,” the knight replied with a hearty laugh—his voice echoing within the metal confines of his helmet—then handed two saddlebags to Sam. They were heavy, but Sam placed each over a shoulder, holding out his hands to accept more. Graeme filled them with travel blankets and a bedroll.

“Thank you, Squire Sam.”

A bubble of giddy excitement rose from Sam’s belly being addressed that way, but he remained calm, only divulging a flushed smile.

Graeme watched him a moment, tilting his head in a curious manner. “I’ll finish here. Could you carry those in?”

“Uhm, yeah, of course.” Sam stammered, feeling a fool for just standing there. “I’ll put this in your room.”

Before his face could grow any warmer, he headed back to the house and stumbled inside.

“Let me help you,” Pa said, rising from the table.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?”

Sam didn’t reply, and instead climbed the steep staircase carefully to the narrow loft that acted as a landing. Two doors faced him. To the left was his bedroom, the other was the guest room—Graeme’s room. With his hands full, he extended a free finger to nudge the latch open, and then gently placed everything on the floor by the wall. He bounded down the stairs, two at a time, and returned to the stables. Graeme had unsaddled Tusk, removed her bridle, and was brushing her black, shiny coat. Sam was surprised to see Tusk responding to the attention, rubbing up against the brush as Graeme worked.

Leaving them to it, Sam brought in fresh hay for the horses, then headed to the well to refill their troughs with water. Carrying the bucket back and forth required multiple trips, and on the final run, he passed Graeme returning to the house. The knight, carrying his longsword and shield, offered Sam a grateful nod of the head. Seeing the armaments brought another wave of excitement within Sam. The whole situation felt like a fantastical dream.

After a final check on the horses, Sam closed up the stables and returned to the house. Night had fallen, and the light from the windows offered an inviting glow. Pa was still sat at the table and Mum was stirring the pot of stew. Graeme, however, was nowhere in sight.

“Supper’s ready, Sam,” Ma said. “Can you bring a bowl to our guest?”

“Sure, but where’d he go?”

“He said he was tired and asked to eat in his room,” Pa said. “Given he’d need to remove that helmet to eat, yet refuses to show his face, I’m guessing he’ll always be eating up there.”

A sliver of disappointment crossed Sam’s face. The excitement of the knight’s arrival had overshadowed the reality of the situation. Graeme would probably remain sequestered in his room the entire time. After all, he was here to rest, not socialise.

Given the encroaching darkness, Sam grabbed an oil lantern along with the bowl of steaming pottage and climbed the steep staircase again. He hung the lantern from a hook on the wall and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Graeme’s voice replied.

Sam unlatched the door to find the room unlit. “Oh, are you sleeping?”

Only then did he discern a murky shape by the window overlooking the empty fields. Graeme had doffed his armour and now wore a cloak with a deep hood. His face was still covered, much to Sam’s regret.

“Not yet, but I am tired. I’ll rest after I eat.”

Without the helmet on, his voice sounded richer in tone, continuing to burgeon Sam’s fascination toward the knight.

The room’s ceiling was slanted from the peaked roof. The bed sat at the far end, taking advantage of limited space beneath the low ceiling. Opposite was a table and chair, and Sam placed the bowl there. The small looking glass hanging above the table had been removed, and now sat unexpectedly on the floor, turned inward to hide its reflection.

A blue glimmer behind the door caught his attention. It was Graeme’s armour, clearly visible despite the gloom.

“It’s glowing,” he said in awe. “How?”

“What you behold is the sorcery of the magi from Farringdon—a city in my country that specialises in all things magick. They are a renowned assembly of men and women who study and practise thaumaturgy.”

Sam took a step closer to inspect the armour piled neatly on the floor. “Magick?” he uttered under his breath, then turned to regard the knight. “I’ve never seen anything magick before.”

“This does not surprise me,” Graeme replied, sitting at the desk. “Magickal artefacts are not commonplace. They infused the molten steel with sorcery that strengthens it, making the armour fundamentally impenetrable.”

“So it does more than glow?”

“Indeed.”

“I could’ve helped you take it off,” Sam said. “It’s impressive you can do it yourself.”

“I’ve learnt a few tricks over the years. Thank you for asking, but I can manage on my own.”

Graeme’s tone had shifted. He wasn’t annoyed, but Sam could tell his offer had displeased the knight. Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of someone touching his armour. Growing disappointment tried to rise up within Sam, but he pushed it back down. He reminded himself to be realistic in his expectations from this knight’s visit. Graeme wasn’t like the knights from his books. Of course he wasn’t. Those characters were singular in their goals, usually saving maidens in peril. While Sam would never openly admit such an embarrassing fact, he often put himself in the role of the maiden, swept into the arms of those chivalrous men and kissing them. These silly fantasies were clouding his perceptions now.

Undoubtedly, Graeme was accustomed to people admiring him, and gave the impression that he politely accepted the praise. In Sam’s case, Graeme even played along with the hero worship. But now, it was evident Sam’s unsought behaviour needed to be toned down.

“Do they speak the common tongue in Rathium?”

Graeme replied in a foreign language, one that fit his accent well. When Sam stared at him—bewildered—the knight chuckled softly and spoke again.

“I said, ‘No, the common tongue is not spoken in Rathium, but it is a language taught to squires.’”

“Oh, um, you speak common well,” Sam said. “Better than some who’ve spoken it their entire lives.”

Graeme nodded his thanks and then ate a spoonful of stew, savoured it. “This is very good. Hearty.” The knight let out a heavy sigh. “I needed this. Thank you.”

“I’ll let my mum know you’re enjoying it,” Sam said while retrieving the lantern hanging in the landing. “Here’s some light—”

The spoon clattered onto the floor, and Graeme nearly fell from his chair, holding up his hands to ward off the light. Peculiarly, his left hand was clad in a leather glove, yet his right hand was not. Sam stumbled back and hung the lantern out of sight again, bewildered by the knight’s reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“Do not worry yourself. I’m the one who ought to apologise,” Graeme said, retrieving the fallen spoon. “You see, I . . .” He trailed off, trying to find the words to justify his actions.

“You don’t need to explain anything. Please, just enjoy your supper and rest well, okay?”

The hooded knight bobbed his head. “I shall. Thank you.”

Sam hesitated a moment at the door. He pondered whether to keep it open, allowing the modicum of light from below to filter into Graeme’s room, or should he grant the man some privacy. Sam decided to leave the door as he found it—closed. At least the blue glow of the armour would provide a hint of illumination.

Supper with his parents was reservedly quiet at first. Without a doubt, they wanted to talk about their new guest, but the walls were thin. Instead, Pa recounted his travel from Langscott. There was nothing special to tell, but it filled the silence.

Afterward, Sam cleaned up while his parents retired to their bedroom. He climbed the stairs to the landing, standing at the two doors before him. No sound arose from Graeme’s room. Was he sleeping now, or just sitting in the dark? Sam’s accumulation of questions was only piling up, especially after Graeme’s reaction to the light. Given the knight’s brief stay, Sam doubted he’d learn the reason for such a deeply visceral reaction. In any case, it wasn’t his business.

Padding into his room, he found the four books he’d acquired sitting on the bed. Mum must’ve put them there. The excitement he’d derived from buying them felt muted compared to Graeme’s arrival. The wall separating Sam and Graeme was lined with shelves of books—countless pages containing made-up stories of knightly adventures. Now, they came across as trivial and insignificant. In no mood to read, he added the four books to the shelf, accidentally knocking over a miniature figure. It was a knight roughly hewn from wood, crafted by his father years ago. While wiping dust from the figure and setting it back on its feet, Sam imagined what stories Graeme could tell. True stories, not fiction. As absurd as it was, he longed to be a part of Graeme’s story—an impossible desire he knew could never be fulfilled.