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he wondered.
What does he mean by saying,
....keep you from harm?
Am I in danger?
He felt as though he could trust Aldric, yet he could not help but think,
Friends do not keep secrets from
friends. Does that mean this man is playing me false?

Before Loric could say anything, Aldric grinned and mused, “That chain mail is finer than most men’s plate. It is light and true. Valdigar was truly a master of his forge. Wear it well.

Carry on the tradition of the Logantian Knights, even if you have been raised a mere farm lad.

That armor shall serve as a good protection for you on the battlefield.”

Loric slipped the clinking ringlets over his head and let them jingle into a comfortable position. When he looked into the sack for his red surcoat, he discovered a forest green replacement. The silhouette of the armored knight had been ousted in favor of the same three towers that were embossed upon Aldric’s saddle. Tall oaks flanked the outermost columns, and an emerald stud tipped all three spires. Loric looked from the surcoat to Aldric, who explained,

“The Emerald Spires may take some getting used to, but I could not have you traipsing about in Logantian Red with the Guardian Knight on your chest, could I?”

Loric slowly shook his head and answered, “I suppose you are right, lord.”

Aldric chuckled, but he did not share the source of his humor.

Loric tugged the surcoat over his steel rings and inquired, “What is so funny--if I may ask, lord?”

“You may ask, but I feel no inclination to answer your query, son of Palendar,” replied Aldric. “I guess I should stop calling you that, before I let that slip to the wrong person.”

“What do you mean, lord?”

“I mean there are dangers that come with your identity,” Aldric explained, “which are the reasons I would have your oath to stow that sword away before we arrive at Moonriver Castle.

As you have already seen and will soon discover, I have replaced your surcoat
and
your shield.”

Aldric raised a halting hand and assured Loric, “Not to worry. I am keeping both items safe for you, until you are restored to your proper place, far from dangers at Moonriver. Now swear.”

“I will swear on one condition, lord,” answered Loric, now partially seeing the heraldic green shield Aldric had bestowed upon him in place of his father’s round red shield.

“Conditional oaths make me uneasy,” Aldric replied. Upon looking Loric over, he sighed and conceded, “Let me hear this condition, before I agree to meet it.”

Loric forgot about the shield and turned his gaze upon Aldric. “Tell me what wrong my father did that I am in danger now,” he said, his nerves adding a tremulous tone to his words.

Aldric smiled and laughed. “I can meet this condition, and I will.”

“Go on, then,” pressed Loric, absently plucking his helmet from the sack and resting it high atop his head.

“Your father did nothing wrong,” Aldric assured him.

“Then why am I in danger?” Loric demanded. “Why all this secrecy?”

“I did not agree to answer those questions,” Aldric pointedly reminded him. “Those matters are for another time, another place. Now swear,” he commanded.

“I swear to hide my sword before we come to Moonriver Castle,” Loric vowed.

“One oath down: one to go,” Aldric remarked with a broad grin. “When we come to the

banks of Moon River, I would have you fulfill your promise to me and swear your allegiance.”

“Yes, lord,” Loric agreed.

The young traveler from Taeglin had gained support unlooked for from the Lord of

Egolstadt, who said to be--and seemed to be--his friend. This friendship could ultimately see him raised to lordship in Belgandost. Nevertheless, it was hard to measure the cost of that high seat, which came attached to a promise to swear.

Chapter Seven

The Bushubu Spear

Loric considered the oath he had promised to swear while he finished examining his

equipment.
What happened in the days when Palen wore his knightly armor and sword in the
halls of Great Donigan’s heirs?
Loric needed to understand his father’s departure from Belgandost. Surely, there were reasons for it. He cursed his decision to throw away
The Knightly
Log of Sir Palendar
.
My answers were likely there written,
he concluded.

Denied the knightly log by his own foolishness, Loric studied the decorative scabbard of his father’s sword, fingering its golden inlay. The pattern glittered in the morning light. He let his hand shift to a firm grip about the hilt and pulled two inches of glimmering steel from its leather housing. Only the diamond in the pommel shimmered more than the blade itself. Loric shoved the sword back into its scabbard and strapped it about his waist. Then he shouldered his replacement shield. He was a knight once more by trappings, but he was still only Loric of Taeglin by name as he mounted Sunset.

As Sunset trotted forward, Loric pondered Aldric’s motives. At least in part, he seemed a valuable ally for a young disfranchised nobleman like the son of Palendar. However, Loric wondered why the Lord of Egolstadt was so eager to see him restored to his rightful place.
What
does Aldric have to gain by raising me to knighthood and lordship?
It was a tricky question with an elusive answer. Loric could not help but wonder how many other lords might make him such promises in return for an oath of service. Still, he liked this man, Aldric. If only he could trust him....

A fierce debate raged within Loric. Could the Lord of Egolstadt truly see him restored to his father’s place as a Logantian Knight and the Lord of Belgandost? He wanted to open his mind to that belief, but it seemed like the stuff of a storyteller’s fancy. As Loric considered the peril Aldric perceived in him wearing his Logantian devices, and therewith declaring himself the Heir of Belgandost, it suddenly came clearer to him. No matter how he was introduced at court, he would seem a threat to Lord Garrick, who now controlled his birthright.
Surely, Lord Garrick
would not harm me,
he thought in stubborn denial. Another possibility loomed on the edge of that unwelcome explanation. Loric’s heart constricted and his blood ran chilled.
Aldric would use
me to reverse his fortunes in Belgandost and Beledon as a whole,
Loric realized, now doubting the wisdom of his promise to swear.
He would play me like a trump card in his struggle for
kingship. Does Aldric truly desire the crown?
Loric was not sure. It did not seem to fit the man, but Loric was quickly learning that nothing about highborn folk seemed to fit them. Perhaps that was because they were accustomed to parading about in costumes and masks that concealed their true personas, with each one made to fit a different occasion, as if every interaction with others was little more than a liar’s gala.
Should I swear to this man, when I doubt him?
Loric wondered.

I made my promise to Aldric, and so will I swear to him,
Loric reaffirmed.
My honor must
uphold me, even when I hold Aldric’s honor in question.

“Lord,” Loric asked Aldric, “would it not be wise to tell Lord Garrick who I am?” He

watched the man, as he pressed his point, suggesting, “He is the Lord of Durbansdan and Belgandost, and as such, he holds the power to see me restored, does he not?”

Aldric looked agitated. He sighed to vent his frustration and explained, “This all ties to things I would discuss with you another place-”

“-another time,” Loric finished with him.

Aldric went on, unperturbed by Loric’s ability to end his sentence. “There are forces at work in this kingdom that you cannot fully understand.” He raised his hand to halt Loric’s objection and continued, “And even if you did understand them, the hot blood of your youth could cause you to act rashly. There are powerful men, who might fear you gaining influence or misjudge your intentions.” Aldric shook his head, saying, “No, Loric. Now is not the time. It is too dangerous.”

“I don’t understand-” Loric blurted out, only to be cut off.

“These men sought to destroy the Blood of Logant, Loric!” Aldric snapped.

“You mean my father?” Loric questioned in a gasp, his heart feeling elastic within his chest.

“But why would they seek this?”

“Now do you understand?” Aldric asked him.

Loric recovered from his shock and fear. “Who are these wicked lords?” he demanded

angrily. “They should pay for their crimes!”

Aldric did not look at Loric. Neither did he acknowledge his strong opinion. “Now is not the time,” he said firmly. Then he changed the subject, promising, “Soon, you will take your oath.

Afterward you will serve as my squire.”

“Your squire?” Loric asked, disappointed.

“To be a squire is your first step on the road to knighthood, and only great lords and noble knights can lay claim to lands and titles,” Aldric explained.

“Very well,” Loric conceded, his thoughts lingering on revenge best exacted from a seat of lordship. “I will work hard, train hard and so prove my worth to you.”

Aldric grinned broadly and said, “I am sure you will achieve great things in my service.”

Opportunity darted through the air in the shape of an incoming spear. The young traveler from Taeglin raised his shield to defend Aldric before the deadly missile could strike him down.

The weapon scraped paint and dented steel, as it struck with a thump and a jolt and clattered harmlessly to the ground between those two men. Aldric passed his eyes over the fallen spear, before he turned them to the south. Loric followed his gaze to the wriggle of a low-hanging cedar branch from whence the attack had come, but the would-be assassin was gone.

Loric never took his eyes from those thickly clustered trees surrounding the ominous sway of evergreen, but Aldric dismounted and had a closer look at the spear that had nearly done for his ending. He showed Loric a primitive stone head banded to a knobby wooden shaft and declared, “Bushubu.”

“What?” Loric questioned, uncertain that he had heard Aldric correctly. “Bushu.... who?”

“I gather you are unfamiliar with the Bushubu Tribe,” Aldric said, angrily snatching the spear from the ground. He mounted Snowstorm with great urgency, calling, “As a man who
is
familiar with those beasts, I recommend that you hurry to the front with me. That spearman was sent to deliver a message: his
Pactchuku,
or
Elder King,
wants us to know that we are to be attacked and destroyed,” Aldric finished gravely. He called out in warning to his men, “To arms!

To arms, Soldiers of Egolstadt!” To his horse he cried, “Forward, Snowstorm!”

Even as Aldric and Loric hastened to rejoin the column ahead of them, a wave of bestial snarls and clashing weapons signaled the start of the onslaught. Surprised soldiers toppled from horses, with their alarmed cries stifled by flint-tipped spears or powerful maws, both of which ripped at vulnerable flesh with equal eagerness. Battle engaged all along the formation. For the length of that marching line, Aldric’s men were staggering backward on their heels, desperate to fend off waylaying Bushubu.

Loric froze upon taking in his first view of battle. It was every bit as terrifying as his father had warned him it would be. He did not believe he would ever forget the sight of an Egolstadter hanging limp and bloodied upon the spear protruding from his chest. His face was pallid. Blood bubbled upon his contorted lips, poured down his punctured chest. Elsewhere, a boy cried, “Ma.

I’m sorry, Ma. I’m so sorry.” When Loric caught a glimpse of the boy, there was a full beard upon his face. He was in fact a man grown, hacked off at his knees, so that he pined for his mother like a child for the sake of his wounds.

Aldric’s loud call of command awakened Loric to duty and honor. He forgot the barbarity and butchery of the fight and let Sunset have the bit. The red stallion pulled alongside Aldric’s white, and together two mounts bore riders into the fray.

Loric overtook a Bushubu Tribesman mounted atop an Egolstadter’s chest, with its broken spear raised above the man’s throat for the killing jab. The Sword of Logant flashed down and around, finishing in an angry arcing uppercut. Loric’s growl of contempt caused the creature to glance up at its new assailant, just before the blow struck it, giving the young traveler his first startling glimpse of a Bushubu Warrior. Shock did not stay his hand. Neither did it deter him from a follow-up stroke, so that the deep gash in the beast’s woolly chest was soon the lesser of its two injuries, as Loric unburdened it from the weight of its oversized head.

Bushubu had bulbous heads and sharply clawed feet. Wide yellow eyes were inset above

their broad pug snouts, and their narrow lips went unnoticed for all of their crooked, jutting fangs. Their ears were lost beneath their shaggy, golden manes, which nearly enveloped their velvety, bronze-colored faces. The beast Loric slew had a half-chewed strip of meat hanging from its jaws, which it had clearly ripped from a human victim during the fight.

Eager to plant a new image in his mind, Loric dismounted and let his orbs stray to man he had saved from certain death. A pair of blue eyes looked appreciatively into his greens and a confident smile, just as bright as his eyes, replaced the contortions of fright and dread previously displayed upon his countenance. Wild blond braids adorned his head, one of them stopping just short of a scar, high on his left cheek.

“Nyck?” Loric questioned. “What are you doing here?”

Loric steadied himself and extended his shield hand, but the stranger from
Taggert’s Pub
reached to his belt for a dagger with serpentine quickness and sent the weapon end over end past his rescuer. A growl at Loric’s back gurgled into silence, and the Bushubu charging toward him crashed harmlessly to the ground at his heels. He heaved a sigh and looked to thank the Egolstadter. He was gone. “Thanks,” he murmured, turning his attention back to the battle.

Aldric rallied his men around him. Slowly and steadily, they regained their footing in the fight. Even so, two enemies set upon Loric at the same time. One wielded a short spear. The other came on with a flurry of claws. The young traveler from Taeglin gingerly positioned his shield against the flint-tipped shaft to his left, while he prepared to teach his other foe that steel is harder and sharper than muscle and bone. He caught the beast’s flailing arms with the edge of his sword, one after the other, pulling the blade through in a deep cutting motion upon making contact with the second limb. The injured Bushubu let off an agonized roar. As viciously slashed arms withdrew from the cruel metal that had done them so much hurt, Loric drove the tip of his weapon forward with a mighty thrust. The sharp point of his father’s sword opened a destructive path into the beast’s chest cavity, and the broadening length of steel hastily followed it through the creature’s heart. Unfortunately for Loric, the weight of the collapsing Bushubu ripped the Sword of Logant from his grasp and he teetered precariously close to falling.