Shadows of Consequence - 3. Chapter 3

Sam slept terribly. Not for the usual reason—reading too late into the night—but because Graeme slept in the next room. He tossed and turned, overcome by endless visions of the knight. And if he let his mind wander, those visions became inappropriately intimate. A curt sigh escaped his lips. He had to stop dwelling on implausible fantasies.

It was still dark outside when he gave up on his attempt to sleep. He crept into the chilly kitchen and stoked the cook fire to get some oats cooking for breakfast, as well as brew a pot of tea. With a steaming mug in hand, he peered through the window. A thin layer of ice traced along the edges of each pane of glass. The first hints of morning sun—deep purples and fiery reds—lit the farm’s pastures. Aside from a few wisps of cloud, the sky was clear. Crisp frost delicately lined every tree limb and blade of grass.

No one stirred by the time he’d finished eating—it was still early, after all. The nervous energy he’d fought against all night still lingered, however, so he decided to make his way to the smithy. With his breath visible in the chilly air, he longed to be near the forge.

“You here already?” Mr Kent said upon his arrival. “Who are you, and what’d you do with my Sam?”

Sam chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe what happened. A genuine knight is staying at our place. A knight-errant.”

“A travelling knight?” Mr Kent replied with a wary eye. “How’d you manage to trap him?”

“Stop joking. It was pure chance. The convoy took all the rooms at the inn.”

“Well, then. A real knight, you say? Reckon you don’t need those books anymore, eh?”

“Not until he leaves, I guess.”

A new request had arrived late yesterday after Sam had left, so he commenced working on that. It didn’t take long for the cold morning to be forgotten, and soon sweat dripped from his brow. An hour into the task, raised voices echoed from the road, catching his attention. Mr Kent, curiosity written on his face, glanced at him. Amid the voices, they heard a woman crying. Something was distressingly wrong. They dashed out of the workshop to discover the cause of the commotion.

At the end of the smithy’s lane, a sparse crowd encircled two people, Russel and Susanna Thorne. Susanna was in tears, clutching a parchment.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked one in the group.

“Their kid Rebekah’s been taken. Kidnapped in the night.”

“What?” Sam said, astonished. “Do you know who took her?” he asked Susanna.

The woman shook her head, then tried to speak but fell to sobbing. Her husband, Russel, held her close and replied instead. “Can’t say for sure, but we think it’s those bandits again. They left a ransom note. A hundred silver, delivered to some ruins southwest of here. I don’t know of any ruins like that.”

“Yeah, there’s Lÿmian ruins higher in the mountains that direction,” Sam said. “I know the place.”

“But we don’t have a hundred silver to pay,” Susanna managed to say.

“We can help you,” another said, and the rest of the group murmured in agreement, attempting to bolster her resolve.

“What we really need is that damned reeve to get his men back here and protect our village properly,” Mr Kent grumbled.

“It’ll take days just to reach him,” Russel said, “and who knows how much longer to muster his men. The message says we have two days to pay.”

“And then what?” someone tactlessly asked.

Susanna fell back to sobbing.

“Wait!” Sam cried out. “There’s a knight staying at my parents’ farm.” The crowd turned to Sam, astounded by this new development. “You could hire him to rescue Rebekah. I dunno how much he’d ask for payment, but it can’t be anywhere near one hundred silver.”

“You think he’d help?” Susanna asked.

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “He specifically said he helps those in need.” Then he turned to Mr Kent. “Let me take them to meet Ser Graeme. I might have to lead him to the ruins, too, so I can’t say when I’ll be back.”

The incredulous stare Sam received from the blacksmith told him the work waiting to be done was nowhere near as important as saving Rebekah. “If I were younger, I’d join you, but I’d only slow you down. Go, lad!”

Sam gestured for Susanna and Russel to join him, and the three ran down the road toward the farm. The crowd looked on, wishing them words of encouragement and good luck.

Upon reaching the farm’s tree-lined lane, they slowed to catch their breath.

“I should warn you,” Sam said. “There’s circumstances about Ser Graeme that are a bit . . . strange. He refuses to show his face.”

“Why?” Russel asked.

“I’ve no idea, but if I were to guess, he’s been shunned in the past due to how he looks.”

“That’s terrible,” Susanna said.

“Please don’t mention anything, okay? Don’t ask him to remove his helmet or anything like that.”

“If you say so,” Russel replied, but his tone didn’t convince Sam he’d follow the advice.

Sam practically burst through the front door with Rebekah’s parents in tow, frightening his mother sitting at the table, sewing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Susanna, Russel. What’s going on?”

Sam waved her questions aside. “Where’s Ser Graeme?”

She blinked at his terseness. “Uh, at the stables, I think. What—”

“I’ll get him,” he announced, then looked to Susanna and Russel. “Wait here.”

He jogged the short distance, finding the top half of the stables’ door open. He peered in. The doors on the opposite side had been opened to the paddock, and the horses were frolicking in the distance. Standing by those doors, however, was Graeme petting Tusk. His long hood was pulled back. From where Sam was standing, he couldn’t make out much detail except that the knight had a shaved head.

Sam ducked out of sight. Graeme’s insistence on keeping his face hidden now left Sam ashamed for having seen it. Cupping his hands to his mouth, Sam called out the knight’s name, then waited a few moments before revealing himself. Graeme remained where he stood, except now the hood concealed his face.

“You look troubled,” the knight said. “What’s wrong?”

Upon returning to the house with Graeme, Sam introduced Susanna and Russel, and then they hurriedly explained the situation regarding their child, Rebekah.

Afterward, Sam said, “Last summer, there were four bandits who came into the village and extorted for coin. Their first target was the general store. The owner tried to call their bluff and managed to get them to leave, but that night the bandits returned, smashed the place up, and started a fire. Luckily, it was doused before any serious damage happened, but the bandits had made their point. From there on, anyone they visited paid what they could to keep their home and belongings safe.”

“And you believe it’s these same bandits that kidnapped your child?” Graeme asked the couple.

Russel nodded. “It’s been months since anyone’s seen them, but yeah, we think so. I worry our lack of defences has only spurred them.”

“That does appear to be the case,” Graeme mused. “But why doesn’t your lord protect your village?”

“After what happened to the general store, the village chief sought the reeve, asking for help. It took weeks before a knight finally came with a stingy militia, but by that point, the bandits hadn’t returned for days. The militia searched the countryside, looking for camps or any sign of them, but they found nothing. We asked for a contingent of men to stay behind—even offering free room and board—but they refused. The reeve insisted the bandits had moved on and it was a waste of their time to stay.”

Graeme tilted his head toward Sam. “And you're familiar with these ruins mentioned in this note?”

“Yeah. They’re ancient Lÿmian ruins. That’s gotta be what they’re talking about. When I was a kid, me and my friends would play there. It’s only an hour away on horseback.”

Mum gave him a stern look. “Had your father and I known you were out there so far from home . . .”

Sam ignored her, keeping his gaze upon Graeme. “I can lead you there.”

“Absolutely not!” Mum cried.

“Mother, I’m an adult. It’s my decision to make. I’m going to help get Rebekah back.”

“I’m coming as well,” Russel said.

“No.” Graeme’s deep voice, calm yet commanding, demanded their attention. “I will go alone. Sam, you tell me what path leads to the ruins and I’ll retrieve the child.”

“There’s no path,” Sam said. “It’s cross-country southwest of Reabury, based on landmarks. It’s, um, hard to give directions. I just know the way.”

“So be it,” Graeme announced with a sombre nod. “You will be my pathfinder.”

Mum raised her hands, pleading. “Sam, please, don’t go. If only your father were here, he’d talk some sense into you.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Sam asked.

“Visiting the trader convoy.”

He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Mum, but whether he’s here or not, it wouldn’t change my mind.” He took her hands into his, squeezing them gently. “I have to do this. I have to help. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

Graeme turned to her. “Rest assured, Mrs Harkenstone, that I will protect your son with my life. I swear no harm will come to him.”

Hearing those words, a twist of conflicting emotions held Sam tight. To know the knight would accept his help as a guide brought a lump of pride in his throat. Better still, if the situation fell ill, the knight would be his protector. Images of battle from the many books he’d read flashed before his eyes. But a clashing thought clawed its way from the periphery of his mind. He wasn’t a damsel in distress. If it came down to it, he didn’t want to be a liability, he wanted to fight alongside Graeme as a trusted equal.

Despite Mum’s nervous glances between Graeme and Sam, she accepted the knight’s oath with a timid nod. “Both my husband and I will hold you to those words, Ser Graeme.”

“I would expect no less.” He then turned to Sam. “Dress yourself appropriately, and then we’ll ready our mounts for travel. I shan’t be long.”

“Wait,” Russel cried out as Graeme began to climb the steep staircase. “We haven’t even discussed your fee.”

Graeme reached the landing but didn’t turn around to speak. From their low vantage point, they would’ve seen his face hidden by the cowl, and Graeme was surely cognisant of this.

“I refuse to be paid to rescue a kidnapped child.”

He then entered his room and shut the door.

The remaining three looked to Sam, and then Susanna touched his arm.

“Thank you for helping us.”

“It’s Ser Graeme who’ll be doing the dirty work. I’m just taking him there.”

“Still,” Russel chimed in, “thank you.”

Sam bowed his head in reply and then climbed up to his own room, contemplating what would be best to wear. Graeme’s door suddenly swung open, catching Sam by surprise.

“Do you own any form of protective clothing?” the knight asked.

Sam shrugged bashfully and shook his head, but then questioned why he should feel embarrassed. He had no reason to own anything like that. “I could grab my leather apron from the smithy. It’s better than nothing.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have a spare gambeson. It ought to fit you.” Graeme gestured for him to enter his room.

Overwhelmed by the prospect of what the knight was offering, Sam stumbled over his own feet, then stood awkwardly—wide-eyed—while Graeme held up the padded coat against Sam’s chest.

“Yes, this will do,” Graeme said.

Sam hesitantly accepted it. “Will you be able to handle four men at once?”

“I’ve been dealt worse odds,” he replied nonchalantly while gently pushing him out of the room and closing the door.

Sam stumbled into his own bedroom, his attention held to every detail of the garment in his hands. The dark brown woven fabric was well worn, fraying at friction points where armour plates had rubbed against it. One of the cuffs had a small tear. He slipped his arms into the sleeves, all the while acutely aware he was donning a battle-worn piece of knight’s kit. He caught the faintest whiff of stale sweat. To his surprise, he didn’t find this unpleasant. It only provided another confirmation Graeme had worn this well and, in its own way, fulfilled Sam’s fantasy of being held close by the knight. At first, the gambeson’s fit was a bit loose, but upon fastening the many hooks along the front, it conformed to his body favourably. The tightness brought an exhilarating, heady thrill.

Hung on the far wall was Mr Kent’s gift to him: a shortsword in a scabbard with a leather belt. Sam had swung it many times, but only in practise, and certainly never in self-defence. After cinching the belt tightly around his waist, he pulled the sword free. He knew the placement of the sheath and where it sat against his hip was important for unimpeded access to the weapon. A few minor adjustments met that need to Sam’s satisfaction.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered to himself.

Stepping back onto the landing, he heard the clank of metal plates coming from Graeme’s room. The sound drew him in—a longing to help the knight don his armour. He knew that would never happen, but Graeme’s need for privacy only added to his allure.

“You are not bringing that sword!” Mum said as Sam descended the stairs. She was at the kitchen counter, wrapping bread and cheese into a cloth bundle. Susanna and Russel sat at the table, still trying to cope with everything that was happening.

“You’d rather have me with no way to defend myself?”

“I’d rather you didn’t put yourself in danger at all.”

“That’s not an option, Mum,” he said, then stormed outside. She scurried after him with Susanna and Russel in tow.

“I swear, being with that blacksmith has been equal parts good and terrible for you,” Mum grumbled under her breath.

“Please be careful,” Susanna said. “If you got hurt—”

“Don’t worry. I’m only wearing all this as a precaution. I’ll heed Ser Graeme’s authority.”

“You better,” Mum said, thrusting the bundle of food into his hands. In spite of her sharp tongue, her eyes beheld her true feelings. She was deeply worried.

Sam kissed her cheek and whispered, “I’ll be careful.”

Graeme emerged from the front door, his armour gleaming in the mid-morning sun. A baldric strapped across his chest underneath his tabard held his longsword tightly at his side, and he hoisted his shield in one hand. Sam nearly tripped over his feet again at the sight.

Graeme gestured toward the stables and began to jog in that direction. “Come, Squire Sam.”

Considering his mother, Susanna, and Russel were right there, Sam blushed at the title Graeme had given him. At least no one voiced a comment as he fell in line.

Once they’d prepped Winx and Tusk for travel, Graeme approached him.

“You wear my gambeson well.” He reached out to touch the hilt of Sam’s shortsword. “Are you proficient?”

“Well, uhm, the blacksmith—he used to be a soldier—taught me how to use it.”

Graeme let out a dubious hum. “But have you fought with it before?”

“No,” he replied meekly.

“Then let’s hope these bandits will see reason and we’ll have no grounds to use our weapons this day.”

As they returned to the house leading their mounts, Mum approached with a full waterskin and handed it to Sam.

“It’s your father’s, for when he travels.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he replied, storing it in a saddlebag alongside the bundle of food. “And don’t worry. It’s only a few hours there and back. We’ll be home well before dark.”

“You certainly better be.” The nervous inflexion in her voice couldn’t be missed.

Meanwhile, Graeme had secured his shield to Tusk and mounted up. Taking that as a cue, Sam followed suit.

“Return to your home,” Graeme said to Susanna and Russel. “We will bring your daughter there.”

Susanna nodded, covering her mouth as her eyes teared up again. Russel took her into his arms and offered a thankful wave to the two mounted men. Sam and Graeme turned their horses and trotted down the lane side by side. He glanced over at the knight, still in disbelief at what was happening. Never had he felt so proud yet so anxious at the same time.