The Knight

“So are you.” I thought about the bill and the few gold ceptres that remained to me. I could pay; but when I had, that much more would be gone forever. “I won’t pay for the roast. You wouldn’t have fed this dog that other stuff after he had stolen a whole roast, so you knew he was here, and you did nothing to keep him from taking a big piece of meat that must have been left lying around in the kitchen. You were careless, and the roast is the price you’ve got to pay for it.”

“All right,” the innkeeper said. “Let go of my arm and I’ll take it off.”

“How much did you charge me for it?”

“Three cups. I’ll take it off. I said I would. Let me go.”

I shook my head, and stood up. “Not yet. I’m going to make you an offer. I’ll pay the three cups,” with my free hand, I fished big brass coins out of the burse at my belt, “if you’ll show me the dog, right now, and it’s mine. I’ll let you go, too. Will you do it?”

“I can’t. It run off.”

I swept up my coins again. “In that case I’m not going to pay you anything for the dog’s food. You let it run away instead of informing my servant. Neither will I pay a single copper for what he drank. Strike those off, and we’ll talk about the rest. If you haven’t cheated me on that, I’ll pay it all.”

“It’s five scields,” the innkeeper insisted. “Five, less the three cups for the dog’s food. That much—or I call the watch.”

I picked him up, turned him over, and dropped him. “I’m living at Sheerwall

Castle now. You can go to Duke Marder for justice, and I’m sure you’ll get it if you do. Only first, it might be smart for you to think about whether you really want it. Sometimes people don’t.”

We left him lying on the floor and went up to the room that had been ours, washed and shaved there, and packed up everything we had brought off the Western Trader.

When we went downstairs again, there was a knight in a green surcoat lying in wait in the taproom. He cut at my head; when I ducked, his blade bit into the doorframe. I rushed him before he could get it out, knocking him off his feet.

With the point of his own dagger sticking him under the chin he begged for mercy.

I said all right, and got up and dusted myself off. “I’m Sir Able of the High

Heart, and I claim your armor and your shield, your weapons except for your sword, your horse or horses if there’s more than one, and your burse. You can keep your clothes, your life, and your sword. I’m not going to ask any ransom for you. Give me those things, and you can go.”

“Sir Nytir of Fairhall am I.” He got up and bowed. “Your offer is generous. I accept it.”

Pouk said, “Pah,” and I gave him a look that meant shut up.

Nytir unbuckled his shield and leaned it against the bar, took off his steel cap, and pulled off his mantle of mail, his surcoat, and his hauberk, piling everything on the nearest table. “My helm is on my saddlebow,” he said. “May I keep the surcoat? It bears my arms.”

I nodded.

“Thank you.” He untied his burse and handed it to me. “Five scields and a few coppers. You said I might retain my sword. Does that extend to the scabbard and sword belt?”

I nodded again.

“The innkeeper called you a brigand. I shall have words with him, by-and-by.”

“So will I,” I said, and I told Pouk to have a look at the horse for me, adding that he should report on all of them if there was more than one.

“There are three,” Nytir said. A smart pull freed his sword. “You might tell my squire to come while you’re about it, fellow.”

Pouk hurried out.

I made the mistake of looking at Pouk as he left, and Nytir’s thrust almost spitted me. I jumped, half falling, and the point twitched the front of my tunic.

The overhand cut that followed it would have killed me, I believe, if the point had not raked the low ceiling. As it was, I got Sword Breaker out and thrust with her, driving the flat end of her blade into Nytir’s face. He was sitting on the floor trying to stop the bleeding by the time his squire came in. The squire hurried over and tried to help him, but Nytir would not take his hands away to let the squire examine his wound. Neither would he speak.

“Your horses are mine,” I told the squire. “Pouk, is there a charger among them?”

“There’s a good ’un what he rode,” Pouk said. “Don’t know if I’d call it a charger, but it’s a good ’un. Then there’s his,” Pouk gestured toward the squire,

“an’ a pack horse, like.”

“Whatever goods are on that pack horse are mine too,” I told the squire. “I’m keeping that horse, and the one your master rode. Is the one you rode your own? Or does it belong to him?”

“It’s Sir Nytir’s, Sir ... ?”

“Able.”

“Sir Able. I—I ... You have no armor.”

“I do now. I’m giving you the horse you rode. Pay attention. It was Sir Nytir’s. I took it from him when I beat him, and I just gave it to you. Now that you own it, I want you to put him on it and lead it someplace where they’ve got a doctor.”

The squire nodded. “He has a house here, Sir Able. I ... You are a true knight. I hope to be a true knight myself, soon.”

I wished him luck.