The Knight

In which I go on a long horseback ride with Bergin and Sir Gerrick, and somehow, between the prattle and the ennui, avoid losing my mind.

Chapter II: The Knight

The ride to the tower was spectacularly uneventful. I’d fully expected that bandits would waylay us or rival adventurers would try and head us off, but the most exciting thing that happened on the whole journey was Bergin’s falling off his horse.

At first I was so nervous I could only think of staying on my horse and not throwing up. But once we were out riding, Sir Gerrick said, “Our quest has begun!” And I realized that the quest had begun, and that it really wasn’t so bad after all. In an hour my terror had faded into oblivion, replaced by boredom and aches.

I did become acquainted with my two quest-mates, perhaps better than I should have liked. Bergin, I found, was incessantly chatty and always in good spirits. On the first day especially he spent all his time trying to engage Sir Gerrick or me in conversation. His voice was annoying - loud and raspy, the kind I imagined would carry in a tavern - but his speech was benign enough at first. He demanded introductions and returned them profusely with little solicitation. He learned that I was named Allicis Malbair, that I was nineteen years old, and that I studied magic at Amphithere University. I learned that he was Bergin Pilgar, seventeen years old, squire to Sir Gerrick Herguldin some three years, with an aunt who lived in the city (though most of his family lived in the country town of Cobalshire), who expected to become a knight tout de suite after completing such a prestigious quest, and then he planned to live in luxurious quarters by the Baron Cobalshire’s manor, but not too luxurious like a city house, for the city was ultimately inferior to the country because it had less feelings, and could I believe that I was going to save the Princess Merowyn, so renowned for her kindness to commoners like us (Bergin seemed to forget I was the daughter of a landed gentleman), and imagine what rewards could come from such a beautiful and charming lady as the princess, and did I think he could perhaps get a kiss or more as thanks for saving her (I didn’t).

It was at this point that things started to go downhill. “Oh,” he said, “but I know you ladies do get jealous, hearing men talk about other ladies like that. Believe me, Her Royal Highness is a great, she is. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t pretty. Believe me, you’re one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever set eyes on.”

I rode away from him as fast as I could.

Sir Gerrick was better by degrees. His voice wasn’t rasping like Bergin’s, but it was nasal. He was considerably less chatty than his squire, but when he did talk, he’d go on for a long time, typically punctuating his speech with series of brief exclamations. For example, his thoughts on the quest:

“When I first heard of this quest I thought it was quite beyond us. But my gracious Lord Cobalshire urged me to go. It could bring such acclaim to Cobalshire, to have its knight save the Princess Merowyn! Such fame! Such fortune! And indeed, the same would fall upon me! Me, the valiant knight who saved her! So after some reflection I resolved to go. True, Ghall had turned back knights braver and swifter than I. And true, his dark powers were such to bring even a dragon under his command. But - ” he laughed nervously - “faith, I fear the wrath of Lord Cobalshire more than any dragon! Still, I knew I’d need an advantage, and so I came to the University, seeking a magician to assist me. That was a true stroke of genius, I think! And ‘sooth, I think we now have the advantage that all those other knights lacked, the one that will let us fell Ghall! Save the Princess! And bring glory to Cobalshire!”

I could only assume such a melodramatic speech was meant to be inspiring; but as Bergin needed no pep talk and I was not the object, he was left talking to himself.

Still, I must give credit where credit is due. At his worst Sir Gerrick never tried to court me (just as well; I guessed he was in his early thirties). He was also an expert rider - under his reins, his dumpy brown mare moved like the white stallions of picture books. Occasionally he would give me a tip on how to handle a days-long ride; I took his advice gratefully, for it typically meant I suffered fewer aches. Besides riding them well, he took excellent care of the horses; he seemed to know just when to give them food and a rest. I was perfectly happy with these breaks: I got food and a rest as well.

On the first night we camped atop a small hill. Bergin had wanted to camp at the bottom, since he was tired of riding, but Sir Gerrick explained it would be better not to make the horses climb the hill as soon as they woke up. I pointed out that the top of the hill was more defensible and thus sealed the decision. I believe the incident gained me some of Sir Gerrick’s esteem.

As Sir Gerrick tied the horses down - our three steeds and a big, sturdy pack horse - he said, “A swifter or more skilled rider than I could reach the tower in a solid day’s ride. Alone, I might make it in two. But since you’re here, Miss Malbair, we’ll spend three days at a slower pace. Hopefully no one will have beaten the sorcerer by then!” He laughed loudly.

“Oh, I hope not!” said Bergin. “We ought to have the glory to ourselves!”

Sir Gerrick’s laughter quickly faded.

For dinner we ate preserved meat. Bergin went on for a long time about how it would put all my fancy upper-class food to shame, but in reality it was as tough and tasteless as I’d expected. I didn’t overtly complain, but I was sick for an hour after I’d finished it.

After that, Sir Gerrick approached me about the enchantments I was to cast.

“Your Professor Vanus said you should lay the enchantments here in the field rather than at the university,” he said. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Well, I can make the enchantments stronger if I put them off. I can put less energy into their longevity and more energy into their effects. If it takes three days to get there, I might want to cast everything tomorrow.”

“I see.” He looked hard at the ground. “I… see. So - ah - what sorts of enchantments should I receive, do you think?”

“I was hoping to ask you about that.”

“Oh. Really.”

“Well, I mean, I can cast a sizable range of enchantments by now. I can do wards, elemental enchantments, I can work in simple spells, I can affect a weapon’s behaviour if I’m clever enough…”

“So which do you recommend?” he asked.

I blinked. I was hoping my enterprising client, struck by the urge to ask a mage for help in his fight, would have some rudimentary idea of what a mage could do. “Er,” I said. “If you’re facing a sorcerer, you’ll probably want heavily warded armour. I… doubt I can overpower his magic, so, er, try not to take many hits. But I can do something. As for your weapon, er, wards would be good on those, too, so you can get past his barriers… and some kind of magic built in to hit the barrier on multiple levels and wear it out. I can also throw in some utility spells if you… want.”

I trailed off, noting Sir Gerrick’s blank stare.

“…so… er…” I racked my brain for a place to start. “Is there a particular element you have a fancy to…?”

“Element?” he asked. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to smack my forehead.

“The elements of magic,” I explained. “Fire, water, earth, air, stars. I think I should enchant your weapon with one of those elements because the sorcerer will have a magical barrier up to stop your physical attacks. If you have magic in your weapon he’ll have to block the magical attack at the same time and it’ll wear him out.”

“Oh! Okay.” He looked at the ground again. “Does it matter which - ”

“No; they’ll all have the same effect.”

“All right. Er, I’ve always liked the idea of a sword wrapped in lightning. Is that an option?”

“Quite. And…” I reconsidered and decided I would rather not outline every other spell I could cast to someone so enlightened about magic as Sir Gerrick. “Leave the rest to me.”

“Excellent!” Sir Gerrick nodded quickly and absconded. How pitiful, I thought, shaking my head. But in the end I couldn’t begrudge the poor knight for feeling out of his depth. After all, I felt the same way.

((Sir Gerrick afforded me his squire’s tent. Bergin would sleep in the knight’s tent with him. That was just as well. The next morning, Bergin and Sir Gerrick each complained that the other snored. I’d slept poorly enough without the extra noise.))

The second day’s ride was even more uneventful than the first. As such, my muscles began to protest more emphatically the strain of riding for so long. Bergin and Sir Gerrick bore the ride without complaint, so I tried to stay quiet about my pains; but Sir Gerrick noticed my riding form was off and forced us to take a break.

“I didn’t expect you’d have the endurance of a trained knight,” he said. “Let us know when you need a break, okay?” I mutely nodded in reply.

I kicked myself over that incident for a long time, but eventually the ennui of endurance riding overtook my self-loathing. Luckily, we made our camp not long after that, and I got cast the enchantments I’d promised.

The knights lay out the materials I needed with remarkable speed. In minutes I had my workbench arrayed before me: a quire of paper; a pen and inkwell; a set of vials containing various herbs and magical reagents; a stack of tomes; and my wand, all set on a wooden board I’d brought to use as a makeshift desk. They also set before me that which they wished enchanted: a cuirass and fauld, a menacing longsword, and a heavy shield with the emblem of a fat pig splayed across its centre (a pig murrey passant, if I recalled my heraldry). Bergin seemed to doubt the efficacy of my tools, saying things like “I don’t see how paper will help us kill a dragon” and “I wonder what we need these heavy books for on a quest like this!” I brooked his tactless comments patiently, secure that I’d soon prove exactly how effective books and paper could be.

“We’ll keep the watch,” said Sir Gerrick, and he took the opportunity to abscond with dignity.

At last, I was as I best loved to be: alone, surrounded by the tools of magic and knowledge. I gazed over my materials and threw myself into my world.

For hours I laboured over my enchantments. I agonized over every drop of ink that went into my sigils; I measured my potions to the last millilitre; I made every rune I engraved into Sir Gerrick’s sword the picture of Gwendian calligraphy (i.e., all straight lines). But far more fun was approaching every little puzzle and difficulty that arose in the course of my work. I found my joy in the abstract: figuring out how exactly to layer this sigil with this incantation alongside this potion. I must confess that I also envisioned possible outcomes for the fight ahead in spite of my complete lack of combat experience. I let my imagination run away with me and saw a hundred knights battle a hundred dragons.

But too soon I was done. My quire was spent; my inkwell dry; the sword was full of runes; and I, my energy spent, at last felt the effects of two days’ riding and terrible stress. I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Morning came too soon. Though we woke late, I nearly slept through breakfast, and I was so exhausted that Bergin had to help me onto my horse. Only two things woke me: my quiet humiliation at needing Bergin’s help, and my first sight of the sorcerer’s tower.

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