The Best Weapon by David Pilling & Martin Bolton

Author:David Pilling & Martin Bolton [Pilling, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-19T05:00:00+00:00

Tomas handed him his sword belt, and Fulk permitted himself another smile as he buckled it on. He may not have been a god, but being a knight was something.

* * * *

The four hundred mounted knights of the vanguard, half of them Templars, stirred up a great cloud of dust as they rode south at a steady canter. In front of them and on their flanks rode groups of outriders, lightly armed men with orders to keep a sharp eye out for any danger or opportunity for glory. To a knight, especially a knight of the Temple, danger and glory were supposed to be one and the same.

Nothing in the way of either materialised, and at noon they halted to water their horses. They had ridden through miles of flat grassland gradually sloping down into a broad valley with a sluggish river meandering through its centre.

The valley was peaceful, with butterflies shimmering among the flowers growing by the riverbed and a soft breeze bending the tips of the lush grass. Fulk gratefully slid down from his horse's saddle and led her to the river. While she bent her head to drink Fulk removed his helmet and knelt, using it as a cup to scoop up water.

"This is a land fit for angels. Have you ever seen anything like it¸ even in dreams?"

The voice belonged to a young knight with a silver griffon on his black jupon. He was bearded and fair-haired, and Fulk noted the premature lines of suffering etched into his narrow face.

The stranger wasn't looking at Fulk, but staring wistfully towards the horizon. "I've studied the maps, you know," he said, half-talking to himself, "and I'm certain that my family once held lands west of here, just a few miles away. My grandfather used to tell me stories. We owned a fine manor-house of white stone surrounded by fields of ripe yellow corn, with plenty of healthy uncomplaining serfs to harvest them."

Fulk followed his gaze west, to where the gentle slopes of the valley rose to meet the grasslands. "That was centuries ago," he said frankly, "nothing would remain of your house now except a few stones."

"Maybe, but I should like to see what we once had, all the same. And claim it as mine, why not? I have a right to my ancestral property."

"We're not here to win back your old lands."

The knight's face grew stubborn. "Who says, Templar? I didn't come all this way just to help your lot re-occupy some decaying fortress."

He seemed eager for an argument, but Fulk was in no mood for one. "You have lands back home, in the Winter Realm," he said, trying to be placatory.

"And what lands!" the knight cried, "one measly little manor on some of the worst soil in the entire country, with but three miserable serfs to plough it. A few stringy cattle, a damp and decaying manor-house, and as for my wife..."

He hesitated, clearly reluctant to delve into the subject of his wife. "No," he said quietly, shaking his head, "it won't do.

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