A Modest Proposal
Ser Reinner finished buckling the last strap on his armour, and stood up from the crooked wooden stool. Arming was a rather onerous process, without someone to help, but it was a good skill to practice, as his knight had continually hammered home when he was a squire.
"A Knight should always be able to arm quickly and silently, to comport himself with chivalry, and stay clean and well groomed, even in the field." Reinner smiled at the memory, then frowned as he considered how well he'd lived his knight's vows so far.
There was a legion of small children loitering around the guildhall who would be only too thrilled to help the great knight armour up, of course, but Reinner didn't want a public scene for what he had in mind. That's why he'd chosen his private commandery instead. The rammed earth floor of the commandery, covered in rushes, was sheltered by a simple turf roof and overlooked by a half-full hayloft, held together by a simple lean-to wooden frame and walls of planks.
Ser Reinner's private commandery was a cattle shed.
A cow mooed from one of the stalls at the back, and her two calves answered, snuggling into the ruddy brown wiry fur of their mother's flank. A couple of chickens clucked from their roost in the hayloft. The birds had long feathery tails and big wattles, with vicious looking beaks and talons, their muted plumage blending seamlessly into the straw. They seemed half feral, like most of the livestock here, not to mention some of the villagers.
It wasn't much, but it was perfect for what he had in mind. The pell, which was the stripped trunk of a virgin birch sapling, stood firmly dug into the floor, which had taken him most of the morning. It would make a perfectly adequate target for his practice. The axe he'd brought out of the Labyrinth stood resting against his stool. He'd been so excited to have found a real enchanted weapon, like a paladin from the chansons. But after the revelations about the crystal, now he was less sure.
The axe was… strange. Not just the feel of the thing, seeming like it was seamlessly carved from mahogany, slightly warm to the touch, but the make and weight as well. The axe was not built like the pollaxes favoured by most knights, with their narrow, wicked blades designed to split armour, reverse hammerheads and daggerlike fore and butt spikes. It was not even like the long, ornate bearded axes he'd once seen carried by the guards of an embassy from far-off Varnmark to the north. It was shaped like a simple wood axe, of the sort any forester from the village might carry over their shoulders. Moreover, the centre of balance seemed to flow through the weapon as he swung it, when he'd made a few practice swings back in the cave.
It was an unnatural thing. He did not want to trust his life to such a weapon in battle without knowing it first. And he knew battle would be coming soon, if he were to redeem himself for bringing a curse onto this village.
Reinner picked up the axe and took up a low guard; the Guard of the Long Tail. He began to slowly circle the pell, darting back and forth, keeping on the balls of his feet. Many fighters simply hacked away in practice, which did little more than strengthen their cuts. More experienced warriors learned to
fight the pell, treating it like a real opponent. He parried an imaginary thrust and stepped in, cutting hard with a rising blow.
Time to see how this thing worked.
The head of the axe sheared straight through the beech pole like it was a rolled up reed mat. Overextended, Reinner stumbled forward as the top half of the pell clattered to the floor.
Well, that was something.
"Nice swing."
Reinner turned to see a wiry middle aged man wearing a sheepskin overcoat leaning in the doorway. A huge snow white wolfhound stood placidly by the man's hip, long tongue lolling as he greeted the byre with a doggy grin. Recognising the dog more than the man, Reinner realised it was the shepherd from the other day. Alain? Something like that.
How long had he been there?
"Greetings, friend. You had quite the near miss the other day."
The wolfhound made a loud sniff, and the man patted it on the head.
"Nearer than I'd care to, friend, and that's no doubt. I came to ask for your help."
Oh good,
another one. Probably a fox in his chicken coop, but right now, everyone in Bairglad thought any stray noise in the night was the Raw Head and Bloody Bones come to gobble them up. Not that Reinner could exactly blame them.
"With what, good sir?"
The man smirked.
"Aiding and abetting a criminal enterprise to steal the crystal from the church, then helping me break out of the village, so I can sell it somewhere far away from here."
Reinner was speechless.
"That's… really?"
The wolfhound padded past the man, passed Reinner, and made a soft chuffing sound at the cow and her calves. She lowed gently in answer, and the dog lay down in front of their stall.
"That's about it."
Reinner's mind rallied.
"You do realise I'm a knight?"
The man frowned at that.
"I had gotten that impression, yes. I've heard tell that knights were brave, and sworn to help the common people. There's a first time for everything I suppose."
Now,
hang on a minute. Reinner felt his hand tighten on the axe.
"How dare you impune my honour, sir! Especially when you're asking me to help you in an act of… of simple thievery!"
"An act of thievery that might well save lives. I suppose it will be a first for both of us."
Was this simple desperation talking? Or something else?
"We're quite safe here behind the wards."
"Oh really? Assume that's actually true. How long do you thing we can last like this?"
"Headman Callom told me we have food to last until the spring."
"For the people yes, because thank the Fates these dead bastards chose to come now, when we're mostly living on stores and winter turnips. But what about the animals?"
The man pointed to the brown cow, who was currently licking the top of the wolfhound's head.
"Well, I assume…"
The man interrupted him.
"I'm a shepherd, so let me tell you. There isn't enough forage within the inner wards to feed all of our animals for more than a month. And there are young lambs and calves to feed, so realistically that's three weeks."
One of the calves bleated, as if to drive home the point.
"Well, if it came to that, surely you could just slaughter some of the beasts."
"Oh, and kill our villager's livelihoods? Their cows and sheep are all these people have. Will you force them to butcher them? Is that what you plan on being your fancy axe's first outing?"
No, he could not do that. Could he?
"We take the crystal back into the Labyrinth, then. I will stand between you and whatever comes. As best as I am able, for as long as I am able. So I swear."
The man's face took on a gentler expression, and he sighed.
"You know, as wound up as you are right now, I imagine you might just go on a death ride, looking to make amends. But what about the militia? Are you going to take them with you?"
Reinner pictured the faces of the farmer's sons he'd spent the last fortnight trying to turn into soldiers.
"They're getting better all the time."
"Are they ready, Ser Knight? Are they ready for what's out there?"
The other week, one of the boys, Morgan, had almost managed to impale himself on his own billhook, trying to show off to his friends by spinning it around. His comrades had laughed, and then raised him up on their shoulders.
"No one's ever ready, their first time."
Reinner thought for a moment.
"So we hold, then. Better animals die than people do. And yes, I will slaughter them myself, if I have to. Better that than the babes suffer."
It was the man's turn to regroup, now.
"Well, maybe you do have the makings of a knight.. Tell me, Ser, have you ever been in a siege? A real one, I mean?"
Ser Reinner involuntarily thought back to the dread winter, the last winter he was a squire, the winter his knight had died. He answered stiffly.
"Yes."
The man looked at him squarely. For the first time, there was no look of reproach.
"Tell me, then, would you ever wish to fight a siege against an enemy
that does not need to eat?"
That was not a joyful thought.
"Even if I could cut you a path through the dead, what then? They would be on you every step of the way. I don't know if you're brave or just a madman."
The man's face took on a firmer cast. Reinner began to see past the shepherd, to someone else.
"That will be my problem. I know the backroads around here, and I've made difficult deliveries under pursuit before. At least wights can't ride fucking horses."
Reinner stopped to think.
"This is lunacy. Utter lunacy."
The man frowned, and turned away. He whistled.
"Come on, Otar."
The wolfhound got up and padded to the door, looking back sadly into the byre.
The man began to leave.
"Wait."
The man stopped and looked back.
"Dawn. Tomorrow. I can get the crystal out of the church. I'll meet you here."
Alaric grinned at him, a feral, wolfish smile.
"And Fates have mercy on us both."
(Author's Note: Big thanks to @Citino here for help in framing Reinner's characterisation. I tried to stay true to that as best I was able.)
