A Horse Named Feren
Old Kahn, the eldest of the mercenaries, had called it exactly right.
Gamson and Pel, once they had made off with the horse, quickly found themselves at a loss. Fear of Johan had indeed driven them out of the village — but once outside, they had no idea what to do next.
"D-don't we need to head for a city? If we stay out here, we're going to run into wolves or worse—"
"Shut your trap, you little shit! I'm thinking!"
Gamson flared up in an instant, and Pel shrank back, unable to offer a word in reply. Out in the wilds, alone, with no one to lean on, Gamson loomed as tall as the heavens in Pel's eyes.
"Ugh... damn it. We'll have to sell the horse at least."
"Then let's just sell it in the city, like I said!"
"I said shut it! It's not that simple, you idiot! You think some stranger's just going to hand over coin for a horse from a guy he's never seen? Keep talking like that and we'll both get fleeced — so keep quiet!"
"But you said there's a city we passed through! Don't you know any merchants there?"
It was madness, of course — but two men wandering a cold, dark field at night could hardly be expected to think clearly. Gamson racked his brains.
Cities are big anyway. No chance of running into the guild or the mercenary boys. If I just tell the horse dealer I'll let it go cheap, it's a win for him too — he'll turn a blind eye for a good deal.
As long as he was dealing with a horse trader — not the guild, not a mercenary — it would be fine. Or so Gamson reasoned. It was the judgment of a fool who had no idea that a city's merchants were bound together like the strands of a spider's web.
"Well, well. Looking nice and healthy, you son of a bitch!"
"I prayed to the gods you wouldn't die. Because I wanted to kill you myself!"
The moment the mercenaries saw the two of them locked in the cell, they burned hot with emotion.
The joy of reunion! Even meeting one's own wife again could not have compared.
"C-captain, if you'd just let me explain—"
"You don't get to call me captain anymore. And there'll be no explaining."
"Huh?"
"What you say is 'I'm sorry, Captain.' Not that it'll do you a damn bit of good, you scumbag."
With that, Gowan laid into Gamson. The guild staff had locked the traitors up tight, worried they might be roughed up before anyone got to them — which only made the whole thing more infuriating.
So while the rest of them had been sleeping rough under the open sky, these two had eaten well and rested easy in a warm cell, had they?
The sounds of fists landing, of bones cracking, of bloody screams rang out from the cell. Old grudges among mercenaries were a terrifying thing.
Meanwhile, outside, Johan was enjoying a thoroughly civilized conversation with the guild staff.
"Ahh, I can't thank you enough. If it weren't for you—"
"Haha, think nothing of it, Master Eldans. It's only what we learned from you."
The guild and the merchant houses were bound by tight, enduring ties, and the staff were delighted to have been of help to one of Eldans's standing.
"The fellow seemed suspicious from the moment he arrived — talking in circles, hedging — so one of the merchants stalled him and sent word to us. Something smelled off. Master Eldans would never pull mercenaries from a caravan and send them packing without so much as a letter."
"Quite right. Quite right."
"And this gentleman would be...?"
"A knight we had the honor of meeting on this caravan."
"Ah..."
A flicker of discomfort crossed the staff's faces. To commoners like them, knights — violent men of exalted birth — could only ever be objects of dread. Cross one the wrong way, and it was the commoner who ended up in pieces.
"Fear not. He is a young knight who understands honor and respects the weak."
"...?"
Johan nearly choked.
Did I ever do that?
But Eldans's endorsement worked better than expected. The staff visibly relaxed at his word.
"If Master Eldans vouches for him, he must truly be a remarkable—"
"And just how honorable is he? What great deeds has he performed?"
"He has no renown as yet, but soon his name will—"
"Eldans."
"Yes, my lord Johan?"
Johan slipped an arm around the merchant's shoulder and murmured low.
"Enough. You're embarrassing me."
"...Yes, my lord!"
As Johan walked off, Eldans thought to himself:
To brush aside such praise and humble himself, unprompted...
Truly, a faithful knight straight out of the old tales!
While the mercenaries caught up with their fists, Johan indulged in his first luxury in a long while. Marcel was truly a different world from the rural estate. In the countryside, a bath meant hurling yourself into an icy river; here, hot water could be had anywhere.
Thanks to Eldans's consideration, Johan had the run of the guild's connections. He soaked in a public bath the guild recommended, had clothes tailored at a wool merchant the guild knew, left his gear with a smith the guild trusted...
All of it — every errand he would have had to run from scratch had he entered this city alone. He was glad, now, that he'd joined the caravan.
Good call.
"My lord Johan?"
"?"
"I offer my sincere thanks for bringing me out of that place with you. The city is, quite frankly, magnificent."
Goidun seemed positively blissful to breathe city air again after so long. Karamaf, having been handed a slab of meat, was looking equally content.
Johan snorted. "Enjoy it. It gets rough from here on out, so rest while you can."
"That, of course, is precisely what a slave is for."
"Speaking of which — what exactly can you do?"
"Ex-excuse me? I— have I done something wrong?"
"No. Just curious. Can you fight?"
Goidun let out a long breath of relief. The moment they'd reached the city, he'd been terrified that Johan meant to sell him off on the spot and buy some fresh, strapping new slave.
Frankly, service under Johan wasn't bad. Goidun had been a peddler himself once; he knew exactly how vile a slave owner could be. One who didn't reach for the whip, who asked about your condition, who let you rest when you looked worn down — that alone already put him...
"I will fight with everything I have!"
"Goidun, I admire the enthusiasm, but from now on, answer the question before Karamaf bites you."
Grrr.
"...Yes, my lord."
"Can you fight or not? What weapons have you handled?"
"A quarterstaff, mostly..."
The long six-foot rod carved from wood was a common tool of everyone from traveling peddlers to shepherds. Easy to find anywhere, easy to handle.
"Any good with it?"
"Er — enough to drive off a stray dog, my lord..."
"Hm. No combat value, then."
At that muttered verdict, Goidun felt a sudden chill.
If my appraisal falls below some standard... am I getting sold?
"Any talent for alchemy or medicine, perhaps?"
"...My lord Johan. If I had skills like those, would I have been rotting in that backwater village?"
"Fair enough. Noted."
Oh no.
"M-my lord Johan! I can maintain weapons and armor!"
"Oh? That's unexpected. Where'd you pick that up?"
"Selling arms and armor, I handled them so often it just... came naturally..."
"That'll do. I'll leave the upkeep to you from now on, then."
Whew.
Goidun exhaled in relief again. Somehow, he'd managed to scrape together a passing grade.
By the time their conversation wound down, the two of them had arrived at the horse trader's. Johan offered a light greeting.
"My thanks. Thanks to you, I got my stolen horse back."
"Think nothing of it, my lord. Catching thieves is a merchant's honor, is it not?"
The horse trader warmed to the nobleman's gratitude. When would a man of his station ever again receive thanks from someone like this?
Johan pressed half an imperial silver into his palm. The trader's eyes went wide at the unexpected reward.
"Th-this is — this is far too much, my lord!"
"Nonsense. My thanks is worth at least that much."
Ho. So he truly comes from fine stock.
Goidun thought as much, watching from behind. Only those born to nobility could give so freely, so unhesitatingly.
Mercenaries who'd once haggled over a single copper could climb as high as they liked — they would never manage that kind of spending.
Johan, of course, was thinking nothing of the sort. He was thinking with a modern man's instincts.
The proper investment is the one where you drive the nail in deep the moment you decide to be generous.
Even Johan found half a silver wrenching to part with — but he'd clenched his teeth and paid it anyway. It would pay dividends someday.
...Surely!
Hiding how moved he was, the horse trader spoke.
"Your lordship's horse was, indeed, worth every bit of that."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. A fine-bred warhorse, my lord."
A knight's destrier could be neither too large nor too small. It had to be suitably big, sturdy, and well-muscled — and even that wasn't the end of it. A knight's horse needed to accelerate, halt, maneuver, and turn on a moment's command. None of that came from bloodline; it came from training.
Blood and training. The twin pillars of a true warhorse. And in both respects, Johan's horse passed with flying colors.
Wait... where in the world did those bastards get a horse like this?
Johan marveled at his half-brothers' resourcefulness. Honestly, he hadn't expected anything of this caliber — he'd braced himself for a passable packhorse, maybe a serviceable hunting mount at best.
Even with everything they owned, they'd have struggled to buy this one, no?
"There now, you beast. Your master's come for you."
The horse snorted and nickered a welcome. Johan felt a fresh welling of affection for the animal. It takes losing something once to learn what it was worth.
"Your name is Feren."
Johan had decided to name him after one of his half-brothers. Confronted with such a magnificent animal, he felt a belated pang of guilt for how he'd once sold them off like stray dogs as a boy.
Maybe I should have sold them a bit more gently?
Horses of any breed fetched a considerable price. Selling the mount he'd received in Lutzbeck left him with more than enough coin for his stay in the city — no need, apparently, to dig into Karamaf's estate just yet.
Besides, whether Eldans had put in a word or not, the merchants he visited all quoted him suspiciously low prices — low enough that Goidun, standing at his side, felt compelled to double-check in a nervous whisper.
"No issues with the animal, and... at this price, it really is a bargain, my lord."
Johan nodded and fitted himself out. One more longsword, a mace, a solid steel shield, and a long spear to round it out. There was nothing like the heavy lance built for the movie-style cavalry charge — here, even knights fought with plain, ordinary spears.
Either way, it never hurt to carry more than one weapon. Karamaf's longsword was doubly unsettling to swing, after all...
On top of that, he gathered the things he hadn't managed to bring when he fled the estate. A cloak, wool blankets for camping, a pewter cup and bowls and a cooking pot, rendered animal fat, a few spices and herbs — and once he'd added a quarterstaff and a short sword for Goidun to carry, the coin poured out of his purse. By the time he came to his senses, the proceeds from selling the horse had dwindled to three imperial silvers.
Money really does evaporate the moment you start spending it.
Strictly speaking, Johan was actually rather well-off. He owned the single most expensive possession a knight could have: his equipment. A chain shirt like the one he wore would cost not tens but hundreds of silvers to buy outright.
Even so, he could not afford to relax. Money, left unearned and only spent, melted away like snow — that was simply its nature.
Johan resolved, then and there, to broach the subject with Eldans and secure an introduction to the head of the guild's branch in this city.