Where the River Runs
The scene looked like something out of a painting. Ser Rodrik Warmheart, a wandering knight of the Kingdom of Iboldria, was crouched beside the riverbank. From the edge of the forest, a young farmer’s daughter from the nearby village watched him with quiet curiosity as he repeatedly splashed water across his face. After several minutes of observing him, the little girl finally gathered the courage to approach the knight.
“Are you a mercenary?” the girl asked, her eyes fixed upon his sword.
“No,” Ser Rodrik replied. “I am a wandering knight.”
“A knight?” The girl gave a startled gasp. “Forgive me, Ser. I did not know you were a knight.”
“Do not trouble yourself, child,” Rodrik said as he rose to his feet. “You have given no offense.”
Ser Rodrik walked over to his horse, which he had tethered to a tree near the riverbank. Reaching into the cloth satchel fastened to the saddle, he drew out an apple and held it before the little girl’s face.
“This could be yours if you guide me to your village,” Rodrik offered.
The girl’s eyes lit up at once. She eagerly reached for the knight’s hand, ready to lead him to the village.
“Easy there, little one,” Rodrik laughed. “Let me prepare my horse, and we shall ride. It will be much faster.”
Rodrik made his horse ready and mounted it. When he rode over to the girl, he extended his hand. She took it, and with a strong pull he lifted her onto the saddle before him. The little girl guided Rodrik along the winding forest paths until, at last, he caught sight of what appeared to be cultivated fields. He urged his horse into a quicker pace to leave the forest behind, but reined it in sharply the moment he saw the state of the village.
Bloodstains. Bodies. Burned houses.
That was the village from which the poor little farmer’s daughter had come.
“What in the Seven Hells has happened here?” Rodrik muttered aloud to himself.
The girl slowly turned to face him.
The knight’s heart tightened at the sight of that little angel’s face. Tears streamed from her eyes like twin rivers.
“Do you live with anyone?” Rodrik asked gently.
“With my mother,” the girl answered. “She’s in our house, trying to gather whatever remains of our belongings after the fire.”
“And your father?”
The girl did not answer. Instead, she silently led Ser Rodrik to her home so that he might speak with her mother.
The girl’s mother was stepping out of the house just as they arrived. Her simple brown dress had been blackened by soot, as had her skin. Only two pale trails remained visible upon her face—the paths carved by the endless tears that had flowed down her cheeks.
“Mother!” the girl cried. “This is my mother, Ser. Please, come to her.”
Ser Rodrik dismounted and approached the woman.
“My lord,” the woman said, her voice broken. “My name is Mary, and the little girl who guided you here is my daughter, Lisa.”
“I am a knight, not a lord,” Rodrik corrected her. “But that matters little. First of all, what in the Seven Hells happened here?”
“Bandits,” the woman replied. “They attacked the village last night and laid it to waste.”
“Bandits? I was under the impression there was a castle nearby. Surely your lord should see to the removal of bandits and thieves.”
“That is the worst of it, Ser,” Mary answered, breaking into tears. “Our lord is said to be gravely ill, yet he refuses to pass his authority to his son. And now that son has taken to plundering his own father’s villages with a band of outlaws and knights who betrayed the very lord they once swore to serve.”
“I would like to help you,” Rodrik said. “I shall ride to your lord’s castle and speak with him. Perhaps a solution may yet be found. And, if you do not mind my asking... where is your husband?”
“He died pulling my daughter from the house as the flames consumed it,” the woman answered. “I was about to go back inside to see if there is anything of him left to bury.”
“I should like to make you a proposal, Mary,” Rodrik said, placing a hand upon her shoulder. “It has been several years since I ceased to be a squire and became a knight. I believe the time has come for me to take on a squire of my own.”
“But I have no sons to offer you, Ser,” Mary replied.
“Lisa will do,” Rodrik said.
“It is not our custom in this kingdom for a girl to become a squire,” Mary explained.
“I know,” Rodrik answered with a smile. “And I suppose it is not our custom for women to become knights, either.”
“No, Ser. In Iboldria, women are neither squires nor knights.”
“Then all the more reason,” Rodrik said. “I shall have the first female squire in the Kingdom of Iboldria, and in a few years’ time, I shall be the first man to dub a woman a knight.”
“But... why?” Mary asked.
Rodrik smiled.
“I rather enjoy being the first.”
