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Chapter 5: Northbound

For Idesin

By Draconicon

Burkhard wasn't the happiest buck in the world, and he doubted that he would be for some time, considering his new assignment. He sighed under his breath as he pulled his pack onto his back, adjusted the extra gear that was hanging down from the roots of his antlers to his neck, and glanced around the campsite.

It's going to be a long day, at this rate.

His charge, young Bastien Blanc, was seated in the middle of a meditation, not even started on packing up his gear from the night before. His knight master, Sir Edmund, was seated on a rock further on from the campsite, just about on the path that they were going to be taking, and if he wasn't mistaken, the older stallion was already at the bottle. A bottle disguised as a tankard, admittedly, but a bottle nevertheless. There was no mistaking the toneless singing that was going on.

The only other member of their party that seemed ready for travel was the blind bat that had started this whole mess. He glanced over his shoulder at the raggedy woman, her wings pulled about her like a second cloak as she stood quietly. She seemed to be muttering something to herself, but he had no idea what. It was in a completely different language.

He sighed again, and walked over to her. Best not neglect one's duties.

"Ma'am?"

She looked up at him immediately, those blank eyes giving him the shivers. He cleared his throat.

"Ma'am. We'll be heading out as soon as Master Blanc has finished packing his gear. Do you require anything before we leave?"

"Nothing aside from a latrine. Is that the right word for you soldiers?"

"It is...You haven't -"

"Not since last night."

Well, at least she couldn't see his blush. Women usually pretended that they didn't do such things. He glanced about, half-hoping that his master would take this off of his hands, but the stallion simply kept singing. Sighing, Burkhard took her arm and gently guided her around to the far side of the former camp, behind a log and a bush.

"Here, the pit is about three feet in front of you."

There was no thanks, merely a sudden tugging at her clothes. Realizing what she was doing, he whipped around. He didn't walk away, but that was not perversion, but chivalry. He could not leave a lady, even one of the Wandering Folk, alone.

It didn't make it any easier to listen to the woman's morning eliminations, though. He winced all the way through.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes...Thank you."

"Part of a soldier's duties, ma'am, and a knight's obligations."

"You aren't one yet, though."

"...No, but I am working to become one."

"You are working, that is for certain. I don't know what you'll become, however."

Fortune-teller nonsense, as far as he was concerned. Whatever she was seeing or saying, it had nothing to do with him. He put it out of his head and waited for her to take his hand again, and led her back into the campsite. She walked over to his charge, kneeling down and chattering with the squirrel in her own language, and he did his best to ignore the pair of them.

He is his own person, he thought as his instincts told him to keep Bastien away from the strange woman.He speaks her language, and he is blessed by the Faith. He can look after himself.

Besides, he needed to deal with...him.

Burkhard walked over to the singing, drinking knight at the road, and tapped his master on the shoulder. With a clang and clash of weapons and half-assembled armor, the horse whipped around. Despite their age difference, they were of a height, and the stallion stared at him instead of down at him.

"Hmmph? Hmmm. Oh, you. Bucky, Bucky. Hehehe. Good, good, you're awake."

"As I have been for the last few hours, sir."

"Ah, good, good. And the camp?"

"All but packed, sir."

"Excellent, splendid, splendid. What a chap, what a lad. You are truly a blessing to me, young boy."

The stallion laughed, the bitter, almost rancid smell of alcohol slapping him in the face as he stood in front of the horse. It was all he could do not to make a comment about it, and he bit his lips to keep from letting any of the fumes into his mouth. If it was possible to get contact drunk, he was halfway there already. No need to risk it further.

"Sir, I believe it would be good to start making our way north. Yesterday, we barely got a few miles."

"Ah, but what a few miles they were. There were bandits, and thieves, and robbers, and -"

"That was your nightmare last night, sir."

"...Was it?"

"I assure you, it was."

"Oh...then what did we do yesterday?"

"We spent most of the afternoon pulling you out of a tree after you tried to lance a stump, sir."

"...Hehehe, I tried to lance a stump. God, that was a moment. Ah, sorry, lad. Here."

The horse handed over his tankard, and - once he was sure that Sir Edmund was serious - Burkhard took it and poured out all that was left in it. The last thing he needed was for his knight master to get drunk enough to start seeing things again. Otherwise, they wouldn't reach the north until well-past the end of the season.

As he packed the tankard into Sir Edmund's saddlebags, the older horse stretched his arms over his head, grunting and shaking his head a few times. He looked up, cocking his head to the side.

"Something the matter, sir?"

"Ugh, just this feeling I have. There's trouble out there, I wager."

"Would this be another of those gambles that ends with you losing your horse and the Blancs having to buy you another, perchance?"

He muttered that, not having quite the heart to bring down the stallion further. Much as he was annoyed by Sir Edmund, the horse had been quite the fighter in his day. Not a legend - not quite, at least - but someone that was very good on horseback and was capable of matching many soldiers run for run on the lancing lanes. The horse had taught him how to fight, to some degree, and the stallion, while not a good source of advice, was still someone that was open to being visited and talked to. Sometimes, it was nice to have someone he could open up to without anything being remembered the next day.

The lovely benefits of having a drunk as a teacher, he thought with a shake of his head. He finished packing up the tankard, adjusted his master's packs, and stood up.

"That will hold it until we make camp tonight, sir."

"Good lad, good lad. Now, go wake up the boy. Master Blanc should be packed up, too."

Burkhard looked over his shoulder, and chuckled.

"It seems that he is, sir."

"He is? By gad, he is. Then off we go!"

Their progress was...slow, to say the least. Burkhard would have preferred something faster, such as a wagon or a set of horses, but Lord Blanc had been quite explicit during the briefing a few days back. The lord of the land had summoned them, the older squirrel laying out their mission in no uncertain terms. They were to bring the unhallowed artifact to a shrine that Bastien had located in the north, just on the borders of their land with their eastern neighbors, and have it fixed before bringing it back. As far as Lord Blanc said, they needed Bastien for his skill with languages, and the bat...

He wasn't entirely sure. There was something about the way that the Lord had mentioned her necessity that left him wondering if everything was on the level, or if there was something else going on. In either case, she had been sent with them, ostensibly to make up for her crimes. Master Bastien had seemed remarkably annoyed at that statement, now that he thought about it.

But due to the mission, they lacked much in the way of necessities. Horses had not been given, though Sir Edmund bore a note from Lord Blanc to allow them to requisition some further down the road. But for now, they walked...and walked...and walked. They kept to a line, with Sir Edmund in front, him at the rear, and the young lord in the center with the former prisoner.

I wish they didn't talk all the time, Burkhard said as he watched them. They gabbled away in the strange tongue of the bat woman, speaking of things that he couldn't understand. Every word seemed like so much gibberish, and yet they seemed to have a fascinating conversation with everything that passed between them.

He put it out of his mind, trying to focus on his job. He was still the bodyguard to the young squirrel, and though Bastien might be soon a man - after all, he was already fourteen - he still needed protecting.

#

They made it half of the day before they ran into trouble, and that trouble went by the name of bandits. Three miles down a forest path, they were, and none of them would have seen a thing had Lucia not stopped and stared off to the north. Somehow, the bat had known that the bandits were waiting in the trees, and had given them just enough warning to respond.

"Protect the young lord, Bucky! I'll handle this!"

"It's Burkhard..."

He didn't say it too loud, however, merely sidling over to put his body between the small band approaching and his charge. The horse had already run forward, his sword in the air and flailing away at the bunch of ruffians charging towards them. Reaching for his own blade, Burkhard analyzed the situation, taking in the numbers of those against them and what their odds were.

A quick glance left him feeling confident. While there were five bandits coming for them, they were not well-armed. One had a shortbow, while the other four were armed with variations of quarterstaffs and thick clubs with metal bent into them. They wouldn't be suited for combat with a knight in armor, even one that was somewhat drunk.

"This is...chaotic."

The bat, however, left him a little concerned. He glanced at her, saw that she was sweating, almost nervous-looking. Was she involved in this? Or was -

"Bucky!"

He whipped his head around, just in time to see one of the bandits coming right at him. He pulled his shortsword up, blocking the quarterstaff coming down before swinging his arm up and in, his elbow bashing the fox in the cheek. His counterswing brought his sword down, right across the fox's chest. Nothing was there to stop it, and blood started flowing as the fox fell down with a scream.

I have to pay attention. Can't let Bastien get hurt. Can't fail.

Shuddering slightly at how he'd almost let someone slip by, he kept moving back and forth between his lord and the four bandits still left. Three - no, two now, as Sir Edmund moved among them. Only the bowman and a wolf with a thick club remained, though the latter was getting desperate as the stallion pressed him harder and harder.

"Haha! Thought you could fight a knight, did you? Well, think again! I am Edmund, a great knight."

"Who the fuck is Edmund?"

"You must have heard of me. Edmund of the Lance, the steel stallion, the -"

"Oh, shut up! We're just here for your money, we don't care!"

"Well, that's just - ow!"

The bandit got in a lucky strike, hitting the knight in the helmet. The stallion spun around, dizzy as he tried to pull himself together, and the wolf charged away, rushing right at him. Burkhard steadied himself, holding his ground as the wolf ran in, club above his head. He was trained for this, he reminded himself. He was a strong fighter. He was a good man. He was loyal. He could hold his ground.

The wolf leaped, and Burkhard slid forward. He went down, then leaped up, driving his blade right under the wolf's ribs. It was a hard blow, one that shoved the canine right back down and into the ground. Blood soaked the buck's fingers, leaving them sticky and hot, and he shuddered.

"You...bastard!"

He looked up, saw the bowman. The one bandit left, the only one with a way to hit. The rat had his bow up, and there was no way to hide. Burkhard stared, knowing in that moment he was about to give his life for his charge. He threw himself up, trying to make as big a target as he could. The arrow flew -

"Ho-ho, ain't taking my buck just yet!"

Sir Edmund leaped into the path of the arrow, the smaller bow's force not able to put the arrow throw his armor. The horse smashed his sword down, bringing the rat to his knees, before taking off his head. Panting, the stallion looked back at them, chuckling.

"Well...I don't think I dreamed that one."

"No...no, sir, you didn't," Burkhard said.

"Well, come on, Bucky. We have some funeral pyres to make. Raiders or not, can't just leave them lying for the crows."

"...Yes, sir."

Right it might be, but this was just another delay. Yet, chivalry demanded. He sighed, standing up and helping to gather the bodies together. This was going to be a loooong day.

The End